The Jacket

What will it cost me

to feed your ravenous loneliness

to be the balm on your raw isolation

caused by your double identity?

You’ve wedged yourself in a space

created by two concentric worlds

escape is a powerless prayer.

I opened a door

and you bounded through

exploding in the relief of freedom.

But the door scraped against my wounds

Blood oozes

from the cross-section

of history and experience

it spirals into a wild current

sucking me down to its thick red depths

where I can no longer hear my name.

When you withdrew

carelessly banging the door shut

you left something behind.

The coat that concealed your loneliness

lies crumpled over my wounds

but it cannot not staunch the flow

it only continues to absorb

my life blood

until we congeal together.

It is mine, now;

I cannot give it back.

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