Slice...
Slice...
Slice...
Tearing open that which binds and holds in place.
Cutting open, and through that one source of life.
Scratching past the outer boundaries.
Sure, it heals.
Sure, it never lasts.
Sure, it won't hurt forever.
But that doesn't destroy it less.
The scars will still be there,
Lasting an eternity.
Whether a scarred heart,
Or marred flesh,
It will always remain.
Slice...
Slice...
Slice...
They say it helps,
Like an exchange.
They say it heals,
Like it could take away the hardships.
They say that it holds back the pain,
Like it could delay the inevitable.
They say it won't last,
Like scars this detrimental can heal.
They say it's just temporary,
Like the problems will all just leave.
They say it really doesn't hurt,
Like a pain for a pain.
It all hurts in the end.
Slice...
Slice...
Slice...
What if the knife cuts to deep?
What then?
What if the scars don't help?
What then?
What if the exchange made, is more costly than expected?
What then?
When will the pain stop?
When will it all go away?
When will these scars complete their purpose?
Why does it seem to help?
Why does the blade seem like an answer?
Why does it seem to cause more problems?
Can anyone answer?
Slice...
Slice...
Slice...
Curse the blade that sets an illusion over the eye.
Curse that which pushes to look towards the blade.
Curse that which lets the blade set it's scars on the heart.
Scratches all over,
Gauze wrapped around,
Blood seeps through,
Tears on skin,
As the pain travels slowly through the hurting.
Is there no other way?
Slice...
Slice...
Slice...
YOU ARE READING
The Battle
PoetryTwo sides, Stuck in an eternal dance, To fight, to win, to live, to lose, to die. A dance not for the faint of heart, But for the bold and courageous. Both going for the heart, To take it out, and be the first to spill blood. For an eternity has th...
