Too well I slaked my thirst

On truth untold.

(Alas) Too well.

A bitter potion, (of) salt and fire and acid,

That staked, then raked my heart,

Like dry leaves in wet grass.

Reverberating.

Ricocheting.

Pinball in a machine without lights

To guide it from the then, to the now and beyond.

That truth untold,

has told on me.

And quenched,

I cannot now be unquenched.

And, if our past defines us,

What now for me

with past undone?

Crumbling, tumbling, crashing around me.

(Deep dark) muddied waters of uncertainty,

Uprooting family trees,

Diluting blood lines,

Dragging me to my knees.

Taunting, taunted.

Haunting, haunted.

The mocking mockery of genes that bore me this far,

Truth untold, which

Separates.

Isolates.

Desolates.

And now knowing, I cannot now unknow,

This knowledge that

Implodes and implores me.

Unknows and unhinges me.

Undone.