Prick
little shard of glass
will you seek me out
with your sharp point
to pierce
the fragile skin
the saggy flesh
what is your point
shard
try hard
thick blood
trickle
little prickle
lickle tickle
then the Band-Aid
Betadine
and dread
of worse
the gas
the mask
the stitches
and the knife
who knew
I’d come to fear you so
at this late stage
shard
it’s picnic beakers
for me now
I am
afraid.
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