Jagged shards of broken terracotta pottery cut
like razors wielded by a drunken psychopath.

Sinking deep into the fleshy parts of my
fingers drawing forth the blood that I knew

was there but preferred to keep inside.
Running free, a dark cadmium red hue

streaks down my fingers into the
cracks of my skin like an oil strike.

Now hobbled like a horse who won’t stay
I can do nothing but feel the pain,

dull knife pain that throbs with every
heart beat, a reminder of clumsiness.