Writing while branded isn’t as 
difficult as it may seem. 

Sure, your chest is ablaze 
and your ego is smoldered to
a crisp——-

And, yeah, your trust is overcooked
like charred meat

But still you manage to capitalize on
the pain. 

Acerbic words flood pristine paper 
while sniffles mix with coagulated ink

Almost like blood seeping from
an unattended wound.

Sentences clamor and ooze
from raw skin while you tremble,

The agony, somehow, sweet——

Tastes like mesquite barbecue
on a hot Summer’s day.

Reminds you of that first loss ever

When Old Yeller laid broken on a 
funeral pyre in your backyard. 

See, all the poetry in the world won’t
resurrect your childhood friends

And, okay, you wrote a few lines 
but once love fades it fades indefinitely ——

It is not the writing that sears but
the living we do afterwards that

Confounds and broils our creative

Roasts our inner Romantic down
to bones and ash and hopelessness

Even as we write to save our dreams
And weep to resurrect our words.

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