Do you propose to staunch my wounds
with the salve of your affection;
bandage my flayed and tattered flesh
with cocooning consolation?

Will you dress my weeping septic sores
with the gossamer gauze of flirtation?
I beg you, go! I crave no resurrection.
My soul does not solicit restoration.

Surely, you know, time’s grinding wheel
sharpens the pain and dulls the ecstasy.
Leave me be, let me succumb
to the clutches of torturous agony.

Again I implore you, I beg you, Go!
Feed me not your heartfelt sympathy
in measured drops of well meant intent
nor curse me with your useless empathy.

I have no need for the promises
born of faith’s vain zealotry
of the fabled curative powers unleashed
by liberation's remedy.

I’ve been here before, too many times.
I do not care to hear
more parables of Phoenix redeemed.
The cost is much too dear.