In this space that is called healing

All it keeps happening is we break layers

Of the illusions my mind have concocted

Like my hand peeling through the onion positioned slightly far away from my eyes

But they still water uncontrollably and I still keep peeling

The food must be cooked

Eyes eventually clear up.

I go rounds of pointing fingers and putting my hands together

Point to my heart, point to my home’s heart

Point to the lost love’s heart, viciously 

Crush, crush, teared

Layers will be revealed.