Mar 2013
It’s open
but you don’t notice.
You land on me
everyday.
Flying through the room
like salt thrown over a shoulder.
Burrowing inside crevices of my skin.
Why are you sharpening yourself.
but you don’t notice.
You land on me
everyday.
Flying through the room
like salt thrown over a shoulder.
Burrowing inside crevices of my skin.
Why are you sharpening yourself.
salt, superstition, crevice, skin, sharpening
