Let me be the wounded one
To bleed for you when blood is gone,
When scars are vain and all
The thousand things I’ve done,
They seep like worthless pearls,
These fetid strings of better days
To end in urbane rose blooms’
Viscous streams and coat the pain,
Coat the pain in current news
Of misread injuries and miss
The point that breaks me.
But I’ve been split for fragments,
And only just begun
These opaque songs in eulogy
For fruitless speculation
Stained in happy, thoughtless shames.
Let me be the wounded one.
Let me be the one to bleed,
For yielding is my stock
And all my wants are cheaply made.