your cuts are delivered so effortlessly,

landing with an outstanding precision,

unexpected but extremely pointed…

aimed right for the jugular,

but slicing past the heart

twisting upwards and forwards.

the cuts are deep,

leaving swathes of pain

in their wake.

you know what you are doing,

you know the path and the destination,

yet you stay married to your cuts,

despite the heart you see shredding

right in front of you,

the jugular sliced wide open,

the blood of disappointment jettisoning

out and upwards,

my trust eroded in its path,

the crimson of it all

overwhelming any affection for you…

and then you say sorry.

again and again.

throwing out words and words carelessly,

hoping the right sorry and the right word

will band aid the path of your cuts.

Might stem the bleed,

but the scars will always linger.

And that…

is the biggest cut of all.