There's no mercy in the glitter of cleavers.

possible tw, recovery memoir.

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1. There’s no mercy in the glitter of cleavers.

 

I catch your glint,

Artificial under bulbs.

Your menacing finger

Beckons me towards you.

You devil, you

Insatiable desire.

Hooking me with pointed head,

With flattened waist

On only one side;

Your non symmetry as

Perplexing as your knack

Of captivating me,

Of enslaving me,

Of embarrassing me.

I refuse to let a single hand

Venture towards your skin.

I will not touch you

You will not touch me

If my life depended

On my decision –

Which it does –

I should say the same,

Should choose the sane

For now.

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