This is NOT a poem about "cutting," I cut my finger cutting up veggies and these words just randomly formed into a poem.

My heartbeat echoes within my brain
as blue blood rushes through my veins.
A cut upon my skin is like a cut on my aching heart.
 
 
Blood drips from my fingertip down to the stone floor
much like the love that once filled my heart
going, going, gone…

(2014)

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Juan Michael
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