Wounded Poem by Sarah Sisson
Wounded
My former self is sutured shut.
I wish to rip the wound in small
selections. In a certain amount
of time this will allow the malice
to flow back on to my skin and
burn me. I can not tell if it is painful
because I am used to the burning
sensation of this tricky world
that wants to execute me
and inflict a wound.
Copyright 01-09-2009 ©® Sarah Sisson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/8/2024 5:31:39 AM # 1.0.0.1119
