Wounds heal like
hell frozen over--
abstracted blood
never blends in
with the territory
fast enough.
Your long, sharp,
superintelligent
fingernails stake
their claim.
Always repeating:
'oh you poor thing'...
while picking away.

Steering wheels too. I grip and they slip. Zero-gravity throats and an acute awareness of how heavy limbs become when theyre unwanted. Flash past street signs ("Virginia", "Jefferson") and cars, those glistening hunks of destiny.

Dont criticize personalities, it kills.