Innocent Naïveté 

Susceptible to sugarcoated venom, Always on the side of the blade rather than the side of the hilt, 

Being given a band-aid after being given a stab. 
That viscus inside is bullet-pocked, but still beating; 

You revet fortresses of fortitude for them to be spider-cracked 

During another’s target practice. 
Pin cushion and punching bag of animate flesh, 

You take draughts too frequently from another’s bitter cup. 

Why make yourself a cuspidor, a silent butler or a hot-water-bag? 
Why, in your naivety, be the tissue that mops up another’s salt water? 

For, after you’re used and reduced to pulp, 

You find yourself among all things used and refused. 


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Writer, editor, human being.

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