I did this to you
for your own good.
To remind you what you own:
skin unpocked as a new peach.
I made it swell, rebel
and whipped you reverent.
I sent you to doctors
who admired me.
Who marked
my course with black ink.
Who shot you up
and dripped you down.
For your own good
I did this to you
to remind you how to burn.
You had shut up.
I sent you screaming for help,
hunting for cool clay,
begging hands to pin your arms.
I did this to you
for your own good.
I am not a metaphor.
Watch me erupt
from under your own skin.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 11