Somethings wound on the surface,
Somethings go deep.
It does not depend
Only on the sharpness of the knife
But also of the strength of the body.

Sometimes we know
Words mutilate
And, deliberately,
We mutilate
For the sadism
To see the red blood running.

But we mostly want to heal
Yet many damage is made
Without the need of intention
As if we can't handle
The power of a knife
We can't drop
But refuse to master.

We keep cutting.