You’ve been keeping my
Knives
In your back
To protect the world from
The scrapes and slices.
But why punish yourself?
A paper cut on your shell is medicine,
But don’t disembowel yourself,
My love.
Wandering souls bound
In the shackles of masters
Long dead,
Find their way
To me.
Let’s set them free,
With the thin,
Tender blades.
We drink and dance and spin,
Together,
Shedding what has protected us;
Kept us safe from the
Truth, of existence.
Becoming my own parent,
The sand burns my eyes
As I stand tall facing
What is.
