The First Cut.

A drop of blood works its way down,
my wrist like a tear drop.
Similar to when my father gave me both
the first time he came home drunk.

But I loved it.

Now, the blade tangos with the skin on my chest,
the two dancers becoming more intimate,
day by day, slowly moving into newer locations.
They leave behind their trail of work, but I am
their only audience.

But one day, he goes too far,
he pushes her too far and suddenly

*thunk*

They stop dancing.
He lets go.
The stage falls down and stops breathing.