A Letter to Myself by K.D. Lovett

If I could make amends 
I’d say I’m sorry. 
You’ve been digging a six-foot hole 
in the ground, searching 
through the perpetual bore
I opened the gateway 
laying a foundation of 
glass pipes beneath your house. 
Under your mattress 
I built the tracks 
for the freight train 
to derail, colliding 
with your fragile unblemished world
I was the bomb 
beneath the bridge. 
Your path to peace of mind 
slipping through your fingers. 
The only thing I’d let you grasp 
was fear of letting go of me
I opened your eyes 
to keep you from dreaming 
of open doors
I am the pain masquerading 
pleasure 
the reason you’re ashamed
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