I left myself
Out in the cold
too close for
Comfort
The wind goes through me,
bright and shiny like
hewn blades
I know I need this kind of
pain
I want to know why wounds won't heal
I want to know why your papers still cut
Maybe you are more dangerous out there
there
On the edges of my memory, razor sharp
I can't cut off my own conversation, but-
I may need to slit my
risk.