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sometimes i don't want to.
the dancing fire warms my hands now, and the stinging pain washes my eyes
away. i am ghost naked. these are not my clothes, this is my torn skin.
/its cold out here, on the hill,
under the trees.
the animals, scared by
there was a fire before the snow,
then the bear came.
he's kind, but he won't
let me go
my hands are like ice, they slip off everything. every thorn claws at them
as they go, snagging the skin like cloth.
"why won't it hurt?"
"every word hurts me."
i can't stand up; i just slip in the blood.
and its on the trees too, they're crying with me.