Butcher
I took a cleaver to bruises
and ripped the purple skin
I needn’t the reminders
I’ll always remember your sin.
your fists, your knives
concealed in our gun-fights —
the disadvantage
I placed myself in.
cut and splice, rip again
I feel each blade as incompetence;
you were meant to make me bleed
& I will always hold the sheath.
