Cuts

A wayward heart in the wild, Trying to wield the knife of hope. Hope for one thing; hope for one friend The only way to guard her heart The only way when others have failed With each fail, adds a slice to her heart Some are shallow; some are deep But all are painful, on her soul For a moment, things were right, things were won But the tables turned as, The wielded became the wielder The cuts on her soul became cuts on her flesh Some are deep; some are shallow At first, the knife only tasted some tiny beads of blood But as time grew, the knife soon feasted As white flesh turns red Crimson drops run down the blade Hope shatters into shards Those shards embed into flesh Joining the sliver with the white and red A friend gained is a friend soon lost The hunter becomes the hunted