Crazy Real

the official blog of author and poet Jennifer Wilson

Edge

Sometimes
the razor-sharp edge of grief
caresses my pericardium
tracing that fragile membrane
like a whisper
every touch electric
raising goosebumps
along my flesh
and I ask

is this love?

exciting and dangerous
titillating and violent
embracing and manipulative

are they two sides of the same coin or
some alien currency whose exchange rate
I have never grasped?

why do I love these torn, bloody places?

who am I without these various wounds?
who am I without the pain, the fear, the
unfettered
savage

fury?

without them there is nothing but wind and foam and
hollow spaces

a shell
carved of flesh
full of echoes.

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