On the Mend

I'm sucking out the poison from a wound made fresh by friends.

They didn't know the implications of their actions.

But it's alright. My bones can bend without breaking.

It's just that now, I don't know if I can smile without faking.

We laugh at the things we can't comprehend.

We make a big joke of it all

when we're on the mend.

Pain is progress.

Pain is progress,

pain is progress,

pain is progress.

Pain is...

If pain is progress then why do I relapse?

Perhaps it's for a reason we can't yet comprehend.

Meanwhile, these bones will continue to bend.