bluebeard’s revenge

If I am to take the forbidden, bleeding key

and open the small shadowy door,

then of course what could be among the corpses but loneliness?

This not quite matching,

this blind spot so stubborn,

painting kaleidoscopes over my vision,

child wound, Chiron wound,

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I pack it with gauze

and sometimes it seems to heal,

thin white scar,

no tears left to cry under rose colored glasses,

no pain of aloneness when I am held,

sought after,

applauded,

but, ah, persistent thing,

look how it bleeds once more