The Nature Of A Knife

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The Nature Of A Knife

I fell in love
With the nature
Of a knife,
And the way it glided
Against my skin,
Carving a canyon
And a river of blood.
The way it dried up
And clotted with mud.
Cut myself a lake,
A man made mistake.
Beauty bled out
Like a monsoon
And created a flood.
Drowned the banks
Of my wound.
And changed like
Autumn leaves.
Going from red to brown,
Leaving my skin
In a drought
And thirsty for rain.
Parched for pain.
So on its dry
And splitting lips,
I make another slit.

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