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
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