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.
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