Flying Towards Destruction

I feel the rip–

all raw edges and ragged bits

of impossibility,

tucked somewhere inside

my gut.


The pain should be enough

to keep me

from the knife,

but the cut is an addiction

all its own.


Soon I will be ribbons;

just fluttering red strips

of my soul

in the wind.



fate isn’t easily resisted,

and I fly

towards my own destruction





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