It is not beyond your
control
it is voluntary motion
moving
as the world moves
around you
as the world
spits back at you, ruthless
and there is nothing you can
do

but
perhaps you realize
how you hurt people
tongue of knives
piercing deeper then a thousand
shards of glass
erupting across the tabletop

yes
you do
I know you
I can see behind your eyes
where you hide your true thoughts
you think they are safe there but
you have never been so wrong.

and you play ignorant
that fatal card
and we laugh and comment on the
sheer stupidity of the action;
but it is never more then words
only for those
who are wounded
who lift up their shirts and see the
scratches
rubbed raw rippling tears
across their heart
cuts still oozing that will in turn
congeal
scarring the past into our different skins
more effectively then the serrated knife
you carry

as you see, we are connected
and though I should not comment further
as for my soul it is already
poured languidly
are you addicted to the
acrid scent of the
battlefield
your scalding words create?

the knife is bloody enough already
is it not?