psychic surgery

how is it that this life is

such a thing of confusion

often painful

rent with illusions

that splinter to cut the flesh

reminding us of the original death

of those longings

deeply hidden

embedded so deeply

within invisible emotional flesh?

how can it be that theses promise of yours

have awoken so much pain

if it were not for the wound

of absent presence

I had in time to claim

as ever present

never mind

It hurt

But even as it cut me to shreds

I realise

I am

Finally

Leaving behind

All that was not mine

And may be I just had to bleed

Until all of this

Necessary

Psychic surgery

Was over