The knife of friendship is sharp and blunt

True friends carry knives.
To war against the things
That make war on us
And to scrape off the dead tissue
That clings to our souls.
Their knife is sharp enough
To cut through our nonesense
Our friends love us too much
To let us self-destruct
Yet they know that
Ultimately our lives are our own
And that we each came into this world
Alone.
In the end their knife is blunt
In comparison to our convinctions
And habits,
Blunt enough to be
A soft space to land on
And ultimately why we keep them around.


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