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

Shaving,

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.