where are the things that we leave behind from yesterday?
who gets them?
do we pass them off to our friends or our family members or the strange man in white flannel
and each day we live full of innuendos, assumptions and misunderstandings
picking our way through the landscape of emotional mines
sometimes never stopping to address the carnage we leave behind
where do we go to escape the fullness of our reality?
and to whom do we present bloodied hands or bloodied souls?
how lost do we get before we seek help?