«What I Don't Know»
What I don't know is what’s killing me the most.
The nails clink on their chain as I raise myself up.
Made especially for me – freshly forged, they were still warm to touch when I picked them up.
Each of the spikes now slotted through a link on that chain.
Slender, sharp, almost elegant of shape, works to admire...
Then, I'd let my hand hover over them, felling the warmth radiating, oh God of Vulcan are these your gift, I picked them...
What I Don't Know
What I don't know is what’s killing me the most.
The nails clink on their chain as I raise myself up.
Made especially for me – freshly forged, they were still warm to touch when I picked them up.
Each of the spikes now slotted through a link on that chain.
Slender, sharp, almost elegant of shape, works to admire...
Then, I'd let my hand hover over them, felling the warmth radiating, oh God of Vulcan are these your gift, I picked them...
What I Don't Know