I will break all my limbs
to have her mold me
as a clay sculpture

To carve her knife
into my skin because
this is how art is made

To have her look at me,
study me, conceal my flaws,
till I am finally perfect

To be owned by her,
her creation to
admire and love

the same we all are,
underneath the shallow surface
this knife will ****,
anything with a purpose.

I asked you if you would stay with me,
And you said "maybe,"
Before taking out a silver knife.
With a smile, you plunged it into my chest,
And I smiled back.

I continued to smile
When we would walk together.
We watched the people stopping to stare,
As more and more of them would inquire.
I would gladly show off the craftsmanship,
Such as the way the engravings in the handle
Would wind round and round like a supple vine.

Finally the last day came.
I knew it would, but I expected it sooner.
You politely pulled out the knife
And waved your goodbyes.
I waved back,
Happy that I could finally dispose of my corpse.

I like to play with knives
It makes me feel alive
The danger of their sting
Why should I survive?

The knife begins to dance
My skin it wants to glance
The blood it wants to bring
Drifting into trance

The knife comes to a close
Its ballet now has froze
It's handle I will cling
And bleeding canvas grows

But knives will lose their touch
And thus I leave it’s clutch
And now my heart doth sing
For you do just as much