I Rib You Not

I seem to have this one extra bone.

It's a bone that has been picked clean. It is picked at by everyone and anyone. It seems to find its way into everyone's craw, choking them until its very presence is dismissed suitably.

If it were a rib in Adam, the shrew would emerge already looking to, and ready to, pick at it--the recursive curse of ill-spawned progeny. The apple of Eden doesn't fall far from the Tree of Knowledge, and it comes riddled with osteoblasts.

Before any conversing, my contrary bone must be picked, because everyone I meet sees it and is compelled to pick at it. One day, it will be picked clean away, and I'll be able to enjoy unconditional camaraderie again. And Original Sin will be gone forever.