Clear glass that cuts like a fork tearing flash like a rip in my shorts.

Shattered ceramic like a pale child's doll cutting my vessel like a thin paper wall.

Cold stainless steel that smells like a nail leaving behind an old rusty trail.

Slice, slice you try and you fail no heavy prescription can keep you from hell.

This poem is about: 



2 years clean from the straight cold knife.
Nobody understands except the man they call Christ.


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