I�m getting on with you shackles.

Not put on, but learning

To live with it, them, the idea.

It�s to be violated like this and not expect

Anything else from the world

Like a whore-bomb nail gun

And paint protected eyelids.

I get on with you like a kiss to raw, bloody lips

I get on with you like anything that ever

Got bruised, got crushed,

got worn and disposed,

rended

And shamed or ashamed.

I get mileage out of my scars.

I get emptiness from elsewhere

Like a lousy, insincere word

Like the last time I was loved

Or loved someone else.

It�s best to not even approach

What I have left for myself.

I get on with this business called life

Even when I�m finished with it

Or can�t need or feel or want

To hurt anymore.

One survives I suppose,

Or at least tries to.

Just don�t expect

That I won�t try

To escape.