If poisoned, one does not simply sit around and wait for the poison to take effect. One bleeds it off, or draws it from the wound when the cure is unavailable.
Sorrow is the deadliest poison. For it eats away at all things until only itself is left.
And so, to bleed it off something must escape whether it be tears or blood. Let poetry move you to the former so you do not have to let the latter.
But, let not tears or blood if you have a cure. Laughter is the cure.
And friends are the best people to administer it.
