Bladed br How dull is the knife wielded in passion's ire br which lands that menacing blow br where the bad time amplifies br tragedy's plateau br and wounds grow with time. br br Things small br sometimes sting the most br tiny cuts which swell despite the years br And we allow them so br because their very smallness ires us so br we see they were avoidable br yet br that blade sliced thin slivers br which in time became infected br br A cannon wound more understandable br because unpreventable br but lover's cold eye br lands blows unshielded br from that blade's edge br which slices easier br over quivering heart tissue. br br Small lesions br old and new br I now surrender br by Will br and vanish them br begrudgingly br for they have pride's gauze br and memory for bandages. br br Let me give them up br heroically as I do br for they are wounds of mine br and mask that we two br are one.