It’s not cathartic, at first,
this opening up, this outpouring.
It fill up with all the
scabs, blood, pus, and bile
of life’s blows to your mind,
to your body,
to your soul.
It reopens wounds and
unlocks memories,
but to not release it
turns you
into a dark alley in a deserted place,
forlorn and forgotten,
trash-filled and filthy.
But either way,
you’re empty.
