Knives that are dull.

I'm trying to separate my mind and my body,
tried so many times before, until I
finally realize it isn't working.
My time spent prying memories from
fresh wounds and tearing my nerves and my fingernails
from my railroad tracks of destruction,
the one way path to hell,
my time spent cheating a clock,
was gaining on me, but I forgot how it
felt when pain was this close and it stung my eyes,
my wrists.
I can wish for anything I want now,
because what I realized can be pawned for
something as worthless as me,
as cold and broken as the canyon between
my ribs and the sun,
warmth, happiness.

I've only closed my eyes
because I no longer deserve the sky.