It tears the border,
like an army of sunken ships and color in the blank seas
It tears the heart,
like a bullet rushing to the finish line but always paused in motion.
It tears the life,
for g-d knows what life truly is.
It tears the thoughts,
for cracked vases do shatter.
Beneath the cold and rough hands,
of broken and battered.
It is skilled.
It tears everything.
Shatters them completely,
until dust is left in each place.
Would 'obliterate' be a good choice of word?
Perhaps 'traumatize',
since that is what happens when 'it' is all over.
And what brings this?
Life.
Life must come,
only to take.
One more is one less.
Leaving the effortless life-taking to be the simplest choice.
It is skilled.
It has you believing ropes and knives are friends.
Knives numb the pain.
So do pain-killers.
As does the stinging of a ringing in your head,
from what you thought would be a simple escape to Neverland.
Ropes bring emotional and physical pain.
Then the walls have holes,
and the scars burn in the rain.
They say,
"Don't do it!
There's a better way!"
Yet they never seem to say,
"It's a illusion that takes you farther from where you wanted to be,
and it gets complicated."
It is skilled.
It tears the little hairs from your head.
It tears the children sleeping in bed.
It tears the words you can't unsay.
It tears the people,
who never seem to stay.
It tears a hole in your gut.
It tears a penny in an empty cup.
It tears until you don't look up.
It tears like a river, moving quick.
It tears and stabs, as it is slick.
It is skilled.
It should be feared.
Living on the brink of "where am I?"
And "whose body am I in?"
There you wonder if everything you've done is a sin.
Alas you don't expect to be forgiven.
In your mind,
you've already sinned,
so you figure you may as well give in.