What Doth

Wrote this tonight...

What doth salt to a wound fresh made?
To me it doth not more pain than the final cut of the blade;
It doth not more pain than the last pin that falls;
It doth not pain at all.
Not e'enth the first cut doth the most pain;
Not e'enth the second compared,
But by the third my heart was a slain.
And what doth anything to a heart impaired?
A heart stripped of love
Hath no pain worse.
Salt is but a joke
To heartbreak's curse.
So what doth salt to a wound fresh made?
What doth my blood to your sharpened blade?
What doth these words to thee?
What hast thee done to me?

Trusis,

Nasia...