the sun is a done
bun hon'.
worry now,
it can't be undone.
hurry now,
your pens and paper for fun.

you know it's too soon
to feel the flurry bow
down to rend bones
into red and vapor for fun.

so **** my **** and call me cherry.
pour the sherry one more time,
I can feel the divine
flesh and scrape her for fun.

knives and saccharine,
guns to blow the *****
off each and every one.
don't worry hon',
it's just for fun.

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 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