Fifth Arm

I think depression’s more of a limb than a disease sometimes

Nuturued under my own wing

And

Goodness has taken flight already

Leaving behind a shell 

Like the bitter aftertaste of grapefruit,

Peels and scraps in the gutter

Or perhaps goodness was plucked away at birth

With surgical tongues

Precise blue gloves dissecting and

Reforming, frantically whispering as they

Unearth and bury

Gravedigger and corpse

Maybe goodness skipped a few generations 

Or

My birth or

A whole family

Without another glance and I was only a frame

For

Otherness

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