unhealed

Invited on the promise that you would heal some old, some stale, some newly exposed, some prodded oft and other wounds,
you saunter in with a veneer of supposed understanding
you sit, you care, you listen, you offer time and empathy
you catch the tears in your hand, right before they fall and vanish

warningly and magically, waves of courage ebb and slowly swell in my mind at the offer of refuge

hopeless, fallen, I take it
your voyeur self probes to find a silver lining
it searches for the goriest bruises that can be used as leverage later, from a safe vantage point
you feed on the miseries and suck the last wheezing breath out of me until I am diminished to a non breathing, a random futile entity
you may need some more tomorrow so you bathe and dress my wounds, with a continuing, ever present, sympathetic smile
for now you are trying to live my pain vicariously through me
seeing it but enjoying the satisfaction of offering a helping hand

you will forget and move on and share this with close and like minded friends
they will admire your entrepreneurship
you will be recognized for someone who dared to live in my dirty, dirty diseased home, yet come out a clean hero
and you will lap it up

But what about me? I am as unhealed as I was before,  before I was probed, prodded, bathed, fed, listened to.