Do not be ashamed of what your survival looks like. Do what you have to do. You are clawing yourself out of the ache, cutting the pain from the bone. It is never going to be pretty, but I promise—it will always be worth it.
Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower? when did you look at your skin and decide you were an impotent dirty old locomotive? the ghost of a locomotive? the specter and shade of a once powerful mad American locomotive?