CUTS

When I think of her I think of scars.

She told me when she touches them they remind her of the cuts;

of how the cuts made her feel,

“it’s a purge”, she said, “a sense of being real".

She spoke to me with honesty of the incremental cost

of destroying the things she held so dear

now irretrievably lost.

Of how, through her inner turmoil,

she could meet the gi...

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Give me a broken mirror.

Hide the blemishes and blotches

That impairs and disfigures.

Give me renewed youth.

Re-circuit my memory

Rewrite the truth.

Give me made up days.

Turn action to fiction

Blow my mind away.

Give me turning tides.

Give me caves and crevices

In which I can hide.

Give me light, give me dark

Give me dressings to hide

...

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