How do we become so accustomed to what we know best?
Why must we stick to our guns, when we’ve never learned the rest?
When we never knew another weapon of distress?
To cause each other pain, is merely nothing but a blown-up insight
About that stain on your dress that could never quite fit right.
The smooth crease of not enough fabric
to cover up your wilting bones,
mounted by your thick skin.
(this poem has meaning for me but, as always, interpret it freely for yourselves) 🙂