diff --git a/writing/poetry/mental-health.html b/writing/poetry/mental-health.html
index e7c4a8443..208cb1b00 100644
--- a/writing/poetry/mental-health.html
+++ b/writing/poetry/mental-health.html
@@ -15,11 +15,11 @@
writing poetry mental-health
There is too much fire in me
-to be described by the soldering iron's tip.
+to be described by the soldering iron’s tip.
If I were to draw that across my flesh,
it would all spill out at once.
-I'd melt, eaten whole by flames,
+I’d melt, eaten whole by flames,
and flow into a pool of molten silver.
I would be borne up through the clouds,
and grow lighter by the second.
@@ -28,7 +28,7 @@ Sublimation would claim me then,
All that energy poured to the air around me,
an imperceptible increase in temperature.
Particle would excite particle
- until I'm felt only as warmth on your face.
+ until I’m felt only as warmth on your face.
But even that would not be enough.
@@ -41,14 +41,14 @@ The shipping forecast! What a load of bollocks.
You can listen from start to finish
And not hear a single word about how a day will feel.
-Or maybe it's a pale, tired, steganography:
+Or maybe it’s a pale, tired, steganography:
Moderate, becoming poor, violent storm 11.
Burning up, drowning, torn by wind, and all I can manage
is to tell you southwest gale 8 to storm 10.
I can point at the moon, exhausted, bored, decaying,
-And hope you don't stare blankly at my finger.
+And hope you don’t stare blankly at my finger.
Thanks to P.R.
Bruise vision
@@ -250,20 +250,20 @@ Failing that,
Beneath her coat was a whole identity:
A subtle form of ideas under soft fur,
-A constantly shifting mass of meaning...
+A constantly shifting mass of meaning…
And somehow, she pulled it off.
She would go for days without shedding a thing,
And then, as if a bottle rolling off a counter,
She would shatter, sending shards of self flying,
-And then we'd all see.
+And then we’d all see.
-Then we'd all see the terror, the joy,
-Then we'd all see the grief at nothing,
-Then we'd all hear her say,
-"I'm not built for a life with death in it."
+Then we’d all see the terror, the joy,
+Then we’d all see the grief at nothing,
+Then we’d all hear her say,
+“I’m not built for a life with death in it.”
-And slowly, she'd pick herself back up
+And slowly, she’d pick herself back up
And find a brand new way to piece herself together
And build herself a brand new smile
And brush out her coat once more.
@@ -293,7 +293,8 @@ Let time eat your memories of me:
A final morsel to savor.
Rush
-
+
+
A flash of coppery sweetness,
A clearing of the sinuses,
A burst of unnamed colors,
@@ -351,7 +352,7 @@ Down cycle
Round and round