When the knife is in your
hands, I won't blame you.
When it kisses my throat
as you used to,
I won't blame you.
You with the kind brown eyes,
You with the silk strung hair,
You with the soft smile and
the burning fire in your chest,
I won't blame you.
Instead I will remember;
the touch that faded, but never
truly stopped burning.
The nights that ended, but never
truly left us.
The love that was extinguished, but never
truly burnt away.
There are embers even now,
smoldering in your hand around my neck,
I feel it. But the thin line between love and hate
is one I pushed you across long ago, and that
passion burns anger in your eyes, where once was love.
You gave me everything you had,
and I gave you not enough,
so when that blade comes to take
the rest,
I won't blame you.