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Sitting on a razors edge,

cheese wire nerves,

cut through my head,

nails down blackboard,

sing the blues,

grated knuckles,

grief ensues,

nails to quick,

knots pulled tight,

butterflies,

and sleepless nights,

steeped in fear,

low self-esteem;

wake me now,

from this bad dream.

 

© Razor’s Edge 29.09.2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm