by Ethel Mortenson Davis
When I came close
to you,
you took a knife
and began
stabbing me all over.
And
the pain
was so great
I could hardly
bear it.
But, as I looked
into the mirror
there were
no wounds, no blood.
But I felt great pain
and many stab wounds.
How could this be?
I looked again
into the mirror,
and on your chest
were many wounds,
and
blood was pouring out
all over
your body.
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