Sometimes in life
We can become
Foul hooked
On the line
So they say
When you’re fishing
And realize the barb
Has disappeared
Deep into your flesh
You don’t want to believe
What your eyes are seeing
Then
You feel it!
What’s left of the rancid bait
That once coated the hook’s exterior
Is now
Starting to slough off into your bloodstream
Like a poison dart
Like venom
From a pit viper’s hollow fangs
At this point
The only thing to do
Is to push it through the other side
It’s more painful to pull back
Yet
All instincts say to do this very thing
So you push as sweat gathers
In little beads on your forehead
Your fingers
Turn white gripping the hook
As you watch your skin rise like a tent
Pushing upwards until the point pops out
Followed by a slow trickle of blood
The same methods can be used
When you’re foul hooked by life
Yet
Again
You first think
How can I push deeper into the problem?
You want to go back
But you know
You have to push through
Whatever has hooked you
The bottle
The bills
The liars
The needle
The saints selling salvation
For their own mansion in the sky
Like Odysseus
You have to keep moving forward
Push through the flesh of the problem
Poke these points of pain to the surface
Until you’re no longer foul hooked
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