The Collapse

There’s a distance between words that creates
chasms as sharp as knives.

There’s a silence in speech that knits
knots and undoes reason.

We chatter to enjoy the noise so
we can avoid the content.

We ruin angles and aspects,
cut corners from rounded edges,

turn blades against the grain, 
chip the surface until the surface finally breaks.

We take it back to base and try again,
knowing eventually there will be nothing

left to cut with our words like ice that bleed.

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