Better

Higher. Faster.

Push.

You swing until you're
sore. Until you're
scared. Until you can't
push yourself any higher.
Or else you'll fall down,
Hard, Fast,
Gracelessly.

Higher Faster
Push.

You scream until you're
raw. You're already
sore. Until you can't
heave another hot, angry sob.

Tears fall.
You've lost your grace.

Harder Faster Further
Ignore what it means when
your heart says it's empty.
Your very ventricles collapsed upon themselves.

You'll get better.
You'll be better.

One way to fix yourself,
make it all better.

You can draw the line, now.
You can trace it.
Harder, faster.
Watch it flow, harder, faster.
Watch it flow down.

You don't have to scream anymore.
Your hot angry tears stop falling
when your hot angry blood starts flowing.

Touch it. Hot. Red.

And everything, somehow, is better again.
And you can go out and play on the swing-set, with
all the other boys and girls.