A thousand soft knives 

Caress me as I fall, 

With knees and elbows 

Doubled over 

In their knotted arms. 

They hold me so gently, 

Those little knives — 

On their dull fibres 

With woven kisses, I receive 

From their worn out fringe — 

Of peeled skin

And scraped knees, to reveal

The sticky grapefruit flesh — 

Lying beneath the outer layer 

Of my raincoat skin. 

And before the pain sets in 

I’m unaware — 

Just grateful more or less,

To not be falling any further 

Off its precipice. 

And as I lay there, 

Overcome by all 

That’s soft and warm — 

And clinging on 

To what little peace I’ve found, 

The glaze cracks — and moults 

From my ceramic vase, 

Skinning my fragile veneer — 

Until all that was pale, 

Becomes red.