1K Cuts in My Poetry Slams

And what it means to me
Eyes peeled, all pain see
And I know you can’t let it be
Sadness a flavor to savor
Beating wings against the cage
Rats all living on rage residue
Testing everything on them but hope
Not over yet, a thousand more cuts
Actions always speak louder than “buts”
You shouldn’t be sorry unless it’s real
The fake veneers too dark and smears
Words are muddy, action crystal clear
Clear the cabinet, clear the cupboard
Tonight’s a finite fine night for not fighting