Friday, July 5, 2013

the cutter

Fingers under knives
We cut just to change the print
Blackened nails hold deep to fault lines
Giving way to the chipped bone below
This is that situation in which you wouldn’t want to be left alone
Showing compassion like a mongoose to a snake
Server all social niceties and let instinct take hold
Once captivating colors lose all meaning
Favorite shade becomes the tone of the skin of the backside of your eyelids
Opened just to wipe the excess build up away
Letting tears form just to clean the narrow pathway
Not capable of feeling anything more than your empty breaths
Dulling all senses in that hollow chest
Like cripples in the sand, we just can’t seem to stand
As we slowly sink away

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