I feel the heat of it each day even though it is a different
heat than before, not warm so much as scalding, the way my fingers felt when I
didn't listen and touched the stove, a lesson I never learned quite right and
must learn again and again, a groundhog
day I must relive until God or fate or pure stupidity relieve me of the burden.
we must live with the
heat of it when the scalding is all there is to tell us we still feel anything
at all , burning better than being numb
While I ache hate from one and hate the other; singed
fingers telling me I still feel, a heat that boils up on the inside now even
this late.
I am the lobster who
does not realize I am boiling over until it is too late to stop
the kid who must
reach up to the stove over and over to see if it's still hot and not learning
that it will always be
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