some knives are stone, some jelly and soft, even if both end up resting in the same place. sometimes. welded. fused. a deep cut, an always-bruise. i still can't wash the grape stain from my curtains blocking my view.
there were fifteen people in line today, sixteen minus you, i wondered how many knives they had. stone scraping bone, oozing jelly, blocked curtains, invisible. if i could, i'd take three from your back, plus the one in your foot, if you'd let me.
sometimes people forget about invisible knives. sometimes stone, but mostly jelly. they forget. take one look at me, give me two more.
what's two more, anyway