Cordolium

Perhaps you're apathetic to my ministrations fatigued by my futile attempts at suturing the suppurating wounds inflicted

by those who came before me both of our spirits bearing similar scars Upon removing the bandages to reveal they have not healed and rankle raw and red I turn my head not in disgust at the pus but so you won’t see the tears I shed on account of my failure before binding them once again in clean linen after applying a balm of my best efforts that in spite of their sincerity will never be enough thus my own injuries I’ve clumsily dressed will continue to fester and decay without the catholicon physic of those three words you cannot say