—an echo sword cuts through the sounds,
time is made of glass. Fragile as the brokenness
in pass.

—a dagger tilt into the chest. The very part,
where all sores dawn. Rising until you see
the pain appearing as heavy breathe.

—sheath; putting away sharp ends of past hurt.
Piercing deeply as longing to be free. The battle
is plenty, as the many who feel so alone.
You aren't the first!

In these blade works, working hard to survive,
on the killing of time. To bat an eye; swinging on
the looks of acting out of pride.

—it cuts anyone deeply, fighting to survive,
fighting in the many struggles of this LIFE.

Is it to hold a knife in defence, or attack,
the question of every human being.