There have always been cuts —
small, surface wounds,
never very deep — but
she would sew them up after,
an expert at the stitching,
never leaving a noticeable
scar,
blending tears and touch
to salve the pain.
Lately, though,
the cuts are deeper,
and she leaves them open.
They fester,
will not heal,
slowly bleed,
droplets falling to decorate
the floor
in a splatter pattern,
like petals
falling from a dying rose.
There have always been cuts.
Awakened Words 
I like this one.
like petals
falling from a dying rose.
Such a strong & poignant image.
There’s intrigue and darkness in your words Mark ~ Those cuts, shallow and deep, always hurt ~
I really like the metaphors you have worked with. I feel like being over-pruned…
I know those drops that fall. The older I grow, the more I see them and my pity drops on the floor next to them and my tears – sorry for the inadvertent hurts that my words, sometimes no words make. Excellent poem – the metaphor has wings.
Striking and stirring, Mark! Your work still inspires!
It hurts when allowed to fester without control. Great observation of human weakness, Mark!
Hank
It hurts when allowed to fester on without control. Great observation of human weakness, Mark!
Hank
Shallow or deep, visible or not, those cuts are wounds. Powerful closing “there have always been cuts”
SMiLes..
so
sAdly
dYing iS
cumulative
aS LiFe..
and
so
iS
LifE wTth
greaTest
gratiTude..
mY friEnd..:)