The Mind’s blade is Sharp

The mind’s blade is sharp, but jagged and thorned.

The entry wound is small, but inside the body is torn and sawed away.

The blade splits like a Katar each reaching for vital organs.

Aiming to wound if not kill.

With a push and pull motion the body is ripped, losing it’s hold on it’s previous form.

Barely clinging to life, but desperately so. As it’s lifeblood, or in the Stoic’s case emotions try to flow freely from the wounds.

The Stoic steels his will and barricades as much as he can so the least amount can leave. While the body still bleeds and the damage was done.

The wounds will heal, they usually do. But the Stoic won’t be the same as the scars change the landscape.

He claims it’s art, that shows his travels and hardships, but at times you can see the light waver in his eyes. A weight unspoken seems to sit there, behind those eyes. In a moment he smiles and laughs. The light regains it’s shape and hides the weight behind. As the Stoic stands up to get on his way.

Before he leaves he asks one question, “Do you have anything you want me to carry?”