The Stabbing

If I stab you,
How much would it hurt?
If it was a sharp object,
Would it hurt even more?

If I was to stab you,
What would you say?
Or would you even know,
I did anything at all?

What if I told you,
You've already stabbed me.
You have already pierced me,
With the needle of speech.

But you stabbed me,
And I bled profusely,
Not the red of the leaf,
But the blue of my feeling.

Did you know what you did,
Or was it so painfully unobvious,
That it passed your pretty face,
Like the star over the city of lights.

I wouldn't know where to start,
When I tell you how much it hurt,
Or how much sleep was lost,
All because of the metaphorical knife.