• wordsofapoem 5w


    The tarnished blade chipped away at the wood,
    A blunt and heavy tool,
    Achieving nothing but chunks of oak,
    splinters sprinkling the air
    Raw hands trying to piece back
    The cleaved heart that was leaking out
    Of his raw chest
    His hand moved automatically,
    Slicing again and again,
    Until finally a crack,
    A minute blemish.