a poem

She wanders in and through me
So lonely, so lost
She seems to be a piece of me
I hope to god she's not:

"These scars you see run deep, my friend.
They began long ago and I don't see an end
They're filled with sharp edges, sharp edges my friend."

She trips and falls almost rhythmically
Her steps are timid, unsteady
I reach to help her to her feet
She speaks softly and cautions me:

"Can't you see I'm dangerous, my friend?
I'm broken like glass, I break when i bend
I'm filled with sharp edges, sharp edges my friend."

Her scars are deep and dirty
Her eyes are empty, hollow
Suddenly I too feel empty
I ask her if she's me:

"I am not you and I'm not your friend
I'm a remnant of scars that did not mend.
I am your sharp edges, I am not your friend."

She still wanders in and through me
So lonely, so lost...