Work Text:
You know every part of me.
I am your carefully traced masterpiece,
your graceful property;
the free bird with the clipped wings.
You've met my deepest flesh,
my soul seared sharp, begging-
please, when I'm without you;
teach me how to breathe again.
You've met my deepest flesh,
when you stormed the castle
and confused the sword safe -
for its pretty, pretty poetry.
You've met my deepest flesh -
how can't you?
You've locked the door,
and swallowed the key.
You've cut me with a scalpel,
and sewed me back again;
somewhat convinced,
that these scars are decorations.
So tell me, is it your love
or is it your pride-
when you blind a person,
to teach them how to see?