Every morning I
pull your knife from my chest
and sew the wound shut
with thread made of anger
it doesn't hold
and eventually in the early
afternoon, a little blood
seeps through my shirt
through my now
patchwork rag doll
chest and I see fleeting concern
in peoples eyes
as they pass by
and say Hi
but never get too close
a stranger that will stay a stranger
sitting on a park bench
bleeding through his shirt
while the literary world
puts its head further up its own ass
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