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This poem is about the therapy I underwent for PTSD - you have to go a long way down to get to the bottom.


Screen_shot_2017-12-05_at_08.50.24by Patrick Howse08 Jul 2013

My leg itches at night.

My fingers sprout nails
To probe beneath

Down to lower layers,
Down and down,

Scraping away

Scraping away
Decades of cuticled

Chitinous scabbed-up
Festering betrayals.

My fingers scrape away,
Digging for the baby.