Archive:// Box Cutter

I worry I am the wound that I survived

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I store razor blades
like file cabinets in the bridges of my wallets

Warm leather holding together better
than my own bastard skin

I cut cocaine and mix it with liquor

A mixture that’ll swallow me
Before I can swallow it

I’ll drown in liquor pools

that’ll break in waves
at the inland sea behind my lips

my ivory teeth, pale cliffs
cut down, jagged and chipped

eaten alive
by the oceans cheap spirit

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I’m a box cutter
built only to open wounds

I’m serrated with the same lines
that run along the edges of your spine

An instrument
not the wound but the thing that makes it

I carry my limbs
like weapons concealed

trade handcuffs for Miranda rights
my cold wrists find solace in the steel embrace
of something other than what harms it

You can kiss me but you’ll beg to forget
Forever a noose learning the shape of your neck

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