you are not
a good time.
you are no
sigh
of relief,
but a burn.
salt
in the wound.
a loud noise
to extinguish
my silence,
any peace
i bring around
myself.
the question
is not
if we should go
how we can
prolong
this entrapment
it is
when can we
take this
persistant weed
down
tear
this one
out
by
the
roots.
a good time.
you are no
sigh
of relief,
but a burn.
salt
in the wound.
a loud noise
to extinguish
my silence,
any peace
i bring around
myself.
the question
is not
if we should go
how we can
prolong
this entrapment
it is
when can we
take this
persistant weed
down
tear
this one
out
by
the
roots.
You and yours are well, I trust? (Or well-ish, judging by the poem