knives

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I'm always smiling. I am beautiful. My heart is not broken. I'm fine. These are not tears. I do not miss you, nor do I need you.
Smooth wooden handle 6 inches, nearly 10 when flicked open to reveal stainless steel The blade marred only by a few oily fingerprints and a speck of brown   It smells of dust and of dried blood
Over the course of time I’ve caught a couple knives in the back From a couple friends I thought it was kinda weird how they thought It would feel good  
I was young, and DUMB.
He is laced with lies I was forced to sew underneath his skin. I am an open book ready for her to rip the pages he so carefully inked.  She is a blade sharpened by the years of trust issues and lack of love.   
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