it's like the story
of the wolf
that finds a knife near
an old campfire, he licks
it, cutting his tongue.
the blood on his lips,
in his mouth is salty,
warm
so he licks some more.
cutting himself again
and again. in time he dies.
what he thought was good
for him, has killed
him.
we often do the same,
licking our own shiny
knives.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment