80.

Knife-Point Perfection


Knife-point perfection still screams out from wrist
Cut up and altered, my skin till it fits
With scalpel and hacksaw to change all my bones
And scalpel and cottonthread to stretch my skin home

Perfection’s not perfect, and still I despair
With life inconsistent, with no-one who cares
So alter my wrists, let blood flow to earth
Knife-point perfection. My god how it hurts.