Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Sharp edges and flickering flames

I don’t envy this short life
The sharp knife
The drip of red
That comes from
The open wound
When I slip and snip
the tip of finger
Nothing lasts
But the past, today always
The flickering flame
The burning pain,
Tomorrow remembers
I always cut myself
But the burning
Is always deliberate
The child drawn
To a dangerous flame
He can never resist,
confused as to whom
To blame
Himself for the radiance
With the sole
Relief that
It doesn’t last
That nothing last
Not even after long enough
The memory of pain,

Flame, or bleeding.

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