Top floor window
                              rope around a cealing fan
                                                             blade to wrist
                                                           ­                  Or a loaded gun
Why not all of thee above
                                   Lets have some fun

There is no mercy on the edge of a blade

I watch her move
like smoke
dancing off a
torrid ember.
The earth weeps
knowing that there
will never be anything
quite as beautiful as her,
and it weeps
at the fact that her last moments
are filled with panic and fright.
she cuts through her nefarious foe
like the ocean spray
that slices its way through
crag rock to dampen a once dry space.
She falls to darkness,
with the searing pain of a slicing blade,
but she will not cry, beg nor
give in.
She welcomes death as a dear friend,
and looks to the light of the world beyond.

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kiss my pain away
make me feel okay
as i lay on the break of death
for eternity
my blood drips slowly to the floor
as I remove the blade
love has left me once again
but pain, it seems to stay

your words were like a dagger held to my fragile neck
and
I never bled so much until that night when you told me
you didn't want me anymore.

It's been awhile since our last encounter;
When I laid you to my skin.
We used to be inseparable;
You always were there.
I ran to you when I couldn't handle
The pain I held inside.
My skin was your canvas,
For your ****** art.
I'm strong now,
That's why we've grown so far apart.
I've regained my strength,
From your wicked games.
My scars have become a reminder,
Of our last dance.
I have escaped from your grasp,
I'm finally free.

Blades of smoke pass through my hair,
Cutting; oxidising; as the smoke is slowly rising
through the tower of my power as I vainly gasp for air.

Cyanide, it seems, can comfort me a while,
as I'm breathing; screaming and repeating
smoky words into the floor's mute bathroom tile.

But my power is all gone; all wrong.
Oxidise: Cyanide.
Once more into my lungs.

Father,
grandfather,
father's grandfather,

all died
by the blade.

Father's grandfather
fell fighting one hundred.

Grandfather
fell fighting too.

Father
fell fighting as well,

while protecting his
wounded troop.

All these men
put up a fight,

they did what they
had to do

It runs in our veins,
we stay the same,

destined to do
what we do.

Our grandmothers hug
our grandchildren,

while they still can

widows
tell their sons
when they're old
enough to use
a blade

so one day,
whenever my son

asks where father
went off to

tell him
it runs in our veins

tell him
I will see
him soon.