but that handle was made for his hand
hand - handle
handle - hand

the fingers would close
around it to never let go
It had to have flesh around it
at all times
But the blade...
the blade was still naked. He couldn't let
the blade naked
It wasn't fair

"So that's why you stabbed your
mommy then?" the psychiatrist asked him.

"Yes," he said.

"The knife is more important
to you than mommy?"

"The knife listens. Mommy doesn't."

Floating
like a particle on a breeze,
like gentle falling ray
we float through the void.

Of hands reaching out,
catching only transient tendrils
tangling through our fingers
like liquid silk.

Capture me in a jar
and use my glow
to light your way
to give me purpose.

Wear our tiny cages
around your powerful neck
and we illuminate your teeth-
use them to crush your way out.

Use them to dissipate the void
into gently falling mist
of knowledge we can finally comprehend
reality we can cup in our hands.

But please, do not forget
to gently smash the jars
so we will not be tied to you
as you too, softly decay.

I am embraced by
The Left Hand Path's
righteous rage.
Watch me throw
my halo in the trash
my wings in the trash
your words in the trash.

Only I can **** them all.
Rampage, rampage,
until angels lay at my feet
like fallen stars.
God can't do anything.
Only I can.
Only I can save myself.

Today I think I will
carve a little heart into my neck
as a memoir
of when you bit me there
and I licked the blood from your lips.

If you were to undress me
you would watch
as I peeled off and discarded my wings.
You trusted the mirage
that covered up the void
behind my eyes.
My existence is nothing but illusion.
My halo is nothing but mirrors.

Drench me in
the sweet stardust
that falls from your lips when you speak.
I know you have a silver tongue
but I am already a statue-
if I must be rusted inside,
at least let me be plated
in glamorous lies.