Stabbing

When every new word

is another stab at survival

(how deep will I plunge this knife?)

 

I don’t dare turn around

to see who watches

this Olympic contest

 

(I will win gold, silver, and bronze

and melt them all to create

a golden calf of false sustenance).

 

I feel bad for survival,

who never asked to become

a pincushion for all my knives.

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Stabbing

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