Wist

A knife embedded,
to shirk, rend and twist.
Heart faintly beating,
like the dull pound of fist
upon the earth – my tomb in which to exist.
Seems that all i am, have & get
is charged and fueled by wist.

Slow and gentle i pull it free,
Allowing chance to still be me.
For a time the hole gapes and bleeds,
but forevermore, a scarred memory.

Again, again & again the scab is peeled;
tired, i only yearn for it to heal.
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