A cold, silver knife
rests on my shaking fingers.
I graze the blade across my life;
the slicing of it lingers.
I push the metal through my skin,
right to my chest, it cuts.
I have to let the blade in,
to remove my outer crust.
I peel, I tear, I rip
to reveal my blood-stained bones.
I put my hand up to my ribs,
and...
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