exile

inured
to the windswept, vague,
mildly, gently painful
that used to be a plague.

you haven't taken me away.

drifting, soft drifting
on a sea lethargically lashing
with metal barbs and waves.

it doesn't need to pull me down.

bloodstains on the blinding sun.
it hurts, a warm blister that
swells up any time you say something nice.

you say i'm beautiful.
you say it hurts.

you're killing me, and i don't care.