I cut my hands
so many times on the knife
this morning as i
sliced and squeezed a lemon
that the pain from its juice
in my wounds
practically snapped my
fingers in two and
shot hard angry zaps
of lemon zest
up my trembling arms.
Refreshing.
Dull thoughts feel like
death sometimes.
I'd rather stab
promptly dispose
of thoughts like these
than allow a steady decomposition.
Easier said than done.
And my hands are still bloody.
2 comments:
Cancer, diabetes, hypertension: these are not diseases. Life itself is the disease: an incurable one from which we shall all die.
damn, anonymous...you could be writing greeting cards for hallmark with your zesty brand of optimism.
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