Slow Bleed
A poem
a knife need not be sharp to cut—
likewise, cuts need not pierce
deep to wound, I know this
take for instance a butter knife —
although not initially lethal
a soft cut can still expertly
chisel its way into the skin
bits and pieces at a time —
kinda like I imagined what Juliet
was thinking when she wanted
to take Romeo out and cut him in little stars
and scatter him in the heavens —
you think you’d know if you were hurt
wouldn’t you?
but some injuries are so minor
they are barely noticed
just an irritation here, a scratch there,
a pinprick causing a droplet of blood
to smear on skin — at the worst
I call this a slow bleed
until the wound — intimately, inwardly, fatally
reaches the heart —
which was thought protected
by skin and bone, and oh, even love—
yes, I thought mine was protected
