Box Knives

Emotions cut like box knives bleeding heart ache from the wounds slowed only briefly by scars like speed bumps.

Perhaps learning from the experience, it slows as it flows over and down, remembering, burning like tear drops that drip on a cold and indifferent floor.

They dry and go the way of dust; unknowingly stuck on shoes or dirty feet, blown away by an errant breeze into nothingness as if they never existed at all.

But there remains a scar, another speed bump, waiting, hoping to be understood.


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