broken & fragmented at some point or another,
holding the pieces of us in our bloody hands.
extremely volatile & searching for the one that will put it back together.
we cower at the touch of most anyone.
our nerves, torn & exposed, even the faultless wind stings & bites.
we build involuntary cages of rusty barbs to protect us,
but when we move they tear their guard a little deeper.
it's fruitless labor to keep ourselves "safe"
but we have no choice if we ever want to fly again.
we stagger through the snow & fight to keep our weary arms raised high above our heads.
it's the curse of being wounded.
all of us, stopping the bleeding & cutting new arteries.
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