Cutting

Cutting

A sliver of glass
is all that it takes
to puncture the skin.

I keep the slivers
in a small leather pouch
by the corner of my bookshelf.

I hold it each day
in the palm of my hand.
The glass feels heavy.

I never open the pouch.
It frightens me
what lies inside.

My plan is secure
in my head.
It is foolproof.

Or I am just a fool.