It finds the ugly things inside long tubes
when I ask about this I am told, “later.”

But later never happens
it doesn’t understand that I too have needs

I dare not utter these words
spoken aloud they sound like the worst thrashing.

When I complain or want it gives me deep cuts
then the guilt makes us look for ugly things to cull demons

For awhile after that it gets better
for a while – water flows clear below gutters

But more and more I start to wonder
perhaps it has always been like it was this day

Perhaps when we dive inside there is just blood
that we bring death rather than bold justice

What if we are the ugly things in buried veins
But it tells me to keep cutting and ignore this vain bullshit.