Walk the Knife
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I walk a knife the sharp side,
With stockinged feet.
My soles meet
The bloody shark, my bride.
Cut deep, spread the wound,
Find the sick in here;
Heal the fear;
Keep my fleeting mind tuned.
Find the illness, cut it all out.
Give me solid ground
All year 'round.
Give me my blood, without
Knives, without trees and rope,
Without adding pain.
I cry in vain:
"I cannot cope, I cannot cope."
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
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