Cripple



These notions

selfish a wish

that begs cut

along a wrist.


Pain’s weight

thrashing go

away senses

feel not a low.


So I manic am

always dosed.

I open doors I

but am closed.


So I’ll see fit I

lash at a light.

It flickers as I

reflect an eye.


If an origin an

eye will supply

then I lambast

for cross am I.


Yet the billows,

feel as if cotton

as I beneath it

feel so rotten.


Am I to serve

in an anguish a

pain stays itch

do selfish ways?


More honor to

live but another

day knife down

I kiss as a lover.



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