Notch, Nick, Hack

With butter knife, I carve…

A story, that is, out of the mangled rock that is my head.

A place, that is, out of the warm world nauseated by my cold touch.

A reason, that is, out of eternally screwed up me.

Every day I notch and nick and hack.

On good days, I’m blessed with a chisel.

On bad days, a spoon.

Yesterday was a butter knife… and I feel bad for complaining.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

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