trust is something sharp to hold for someone important in a perfect world we'd never bleed over one another chrome blades dig into each person who lost grip with their loved one in a perfect world trust would be dull significance is in the blade filled inside of the atoms are the affections, promises and lust we carry a perfect world is plastic empty atoms hollow and dead on the inside contain nothing I rather take the blade than poison myself
like the blood that seeps through the holes n gaps in my skin i patch it up with paper and tape but what lays underneath calls every blade to my skin i try again to keep it away but it causes a hunger that's impossible to satisfy in any other way
at the age of twenty-two i fell in love with the guy who can't pronounce my name, who only says i love you when he bites my lip (there are times that he forcibly opened my mouth and search for the dead poetries i buried 2 years ago).
at the age of twenty-four he asked me to undress myself while his eyes are stabbing my chest (i did and he stabbed me so deep that until now i can't get the blade off). he smashed my small body on the bed and abandoned after he found another poetry hiding in between my legs (i picked myself up after he left).
at the age of twenty-five he asked me to give every poetry blooming inside of me (but what can i offer if i'm alone with typos and errors?)
at the age of thirty i'm nothing but a cover page (no, i'm not a poetry book after the reader ripped off my pages).
On the await by a shimering light, A well handled cold and sharp blade hangs, Sealed by the souls of the lifes it has taken. Within a glance of remorse and air of curiosity, Awaits a children, the most alive creature that has ever been near such, Longing by the day to wield it.
Nor long the time wants to rush, It knows the danger kept within the blade, The influence upon who holds, And the lack of mercy over who gets cut.
I saw the first calf being born how the cow licked its forehead its eyes its legs I watched it have trouble standing up then walk better and better in search of the stable door and licking my dad's hand on the threshold
I saw all this when I was a child and father did not know why I was crying
but I caught a glimpse of it (I only tell you now, daddy) in the blade of the knife you used to cut the umbilical cord
and as it flowed the blood knew it would be touching that blade one last time