It's scratched and dull, but it pricks me to no end
That people don't see that at best
I'm worried, and at worst, distressed.
They can't see the knife in my chest.

You glance at me quickly, and don't look away
Your mouth opens, but you have nothing to say.
It makes sense that you see it-your chest is just as marred.
I shouldn't be so surprised-
No one leaves a knife fight unscarred.

The words tumble out,
they fall like rocks from your lips.
Gravity pulls them down, and they sink like ships-
Those honeyed words, they make me smile...
For a time, at least, and for a short while.
I meet your eyes, catch your hopeful grin.
I've already forgiven you for the wound, my friend.
Your face lights up, and your arms reach out,
but there's no way I can reach you, no path, no route.
Oh, my dear friend, you should have guessed:
Of course I can't hug you-there's a knife in my chest!