The Blade

by Kristin Garth

The Blade 

It’s as much the fault of the blade that it was 

designed serrated as it is that I’m

designed accident prone.  Neither the cause 

of any bloody outcome unless combined 

when we should leave each other alone. Eviscerate me without trying.

Ruin another sundress.  Wounds I know 

my friends wish I wouldn’t express multiply 

simply because I gravitate to your glint.

Crave danger inside my fumbling fingers 

believing this time will be different.

Festering scabs are only what linger 

and yet when we are too long away 

I find virgin skin to offer the blade. 

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