I hold my fingers
in the flame,
but the iron
will not take form.
The hammer blows
only steal resolve.
This deformity is crude,
I no longer fit inside you.
My knives are slick
but they will not sharpen
your wounds or cut
the sky into shade.
in the flame,
but the iron
will not take form.
The hammer blows
only steal resolve.
This deformity is crude,
I no longer fit inside you.
My knives are slick
but they will not sharpen
your wounds or cut
the sky into shade.
.
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