Black Ink and Parchment

You walked to our lives as if you were a kind of balm designed to cure what never healed. Instead You ripped through us, almost gleeful as we bled into the open air, but healing doesn’t need to wound flesh just to prove it was broken. You damaged us just so you could pretend heal us.

You stitched us back together using thread dipped in venom. Not to save us, but to make our family into something easier for you to hold. You cut away certain family members and friends because you claim they were infecting us from the inside out. Carefully, you feed lies to isolate the ‘sickness.’

When really those people knew what you were: Poison disguised as Medicine.

And everyone else believed you. So now, they are left with nothing but you and your pretended antibiotics. And they bought into the delusion you are the cure they needed to heal old scars and wounds. When you surgically removed those that remembered what caused those infections to begin with, everyone was grateful. After all it hurts to be reminded of imperfections (even though we loved you in spite of these flaws because that it is what family, and chosen family does).

Maybe they knew you were dangerous, and it was better to keep you close, and let you destroy what you saw fit. All I know is that the damage that has been created will never be repaired. Family should never be forced to choose. But you dangled the potion of poison and a decision was made. We have accepted it. But the poison that runs through our family’s veins, stings, especially when it reaches the heart.

But when everyone needs actual medicine, will you offer some? Or will you just continue to let them take placebos while you reap the benefits of being the one to ‘cure’ what was never sick?

Only time will tell.