don’t look down

1 November 2018

your scars
a brutal beautiful
forging through life
even as deaths gristly
hold tries to drag you
down the jagged edges
of scar tissue something
like a zipper you joke will
be your next
tattoo

dust particles
tap dance off the edges
of furniture light splayed
like the sun’s split wide
trying to say ‘look at my
hot stuff babe’ while the
pain rides every
internal nerve

you are wound tight
like when you were young
you’d wrap rubber bands
round your pinky blood
gathering at the tip til it
turned purple suddenly
you’d be afraid it’d drop off
the swelling making it
harder to remove the elastic
your panic a pin prick spreading
swiftly

that sensation is
your every day
the opiates a liquid dip
muting a little more
with every hit
your fingers trace
again those battle lines
on flesh carved
with tiny knives

people dip their heads
over the precipice
just to feel their breath
catch in their chests
you would give anything
to be able to scrabble back
from the ledge

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