you're dangerous
but i like it
loving you
touching you
soaking you in
it's like licking chocolate
off of a knife

you draw blood
and then you dance in it
leaving red footprints
**all over my skin

Slice me and dice me but please dont add salt!

all your time putting worth on work
while the world dies and the hurt just surfs
blood and tide being pulled by night
cleansing cycles of moonlight
I can't mourn from a lesson learned
pigs demise at the end of the knife

at the end of the of the knife
at the end of the of the knife
I sit at the edge of the the knife
mourn from the lesson learned
all your time

make the money
I roll the nickels
yes you see this game it is mine
street flows full of blood
yes it flows with the blood of the swine
I'm a ***** a *** a hobo, a box car and jug of wine
bad and good they go together
must except one to understand the other
you see that everyone will have their day to die
just give it time

your knife is glinting : recently polished
& i can see my eye reflected in the metal

I want to write you a poem.
I want to carve it into
Your skin and your flesh
With my pen knife.
-I knew the word pen
Was not in there for nothing.-
I want you to feel the sting of my words
As I drive and drag them
Into your split skin.
I want you to feel the burn of my body,
carving calligraphy
into yours.
I want you to feel my emotions
Running out in blood,
Leaking out of you
In dark, watery cascades.
I want the poison of your kisses
That has spread through my body
To find you again.
I want to write your promises
On the stones I will press
Onto you. So you too
Can feel their o'erburdening weight
The way I did
-and carried, all this time.

I hate me
me or we
because it seems
through all these scenes
I just can't love me
I can't be
what you see
so, the truth, he
will show to
the world too
so I take
to words I make
to the knife
to end my strife
a dull blade
makes me fade
so all the pain
to follow cain
and **** a part
of me, my heart

Sorry if my poetry will seem dark and dead
My writing hand is tired and sore, as is my head
Induced by the twisting and turning, I bled.....
From the knife shoved in my soul while I lay in bed

This poem will never be finished, because like I said
My writing hand is tired and sore, as is my head
If I keep going I'll say bad words, like those in Ted
............................................behind the wood shed

You just scattered the pieces.
How can you break what's already broken?
The comforting clench of the hand around the knife.
Those eyes.
The chill.

But those eyes, they make me believe.
In love.
In you.
I believe.
Yet I cry.

The stick of the point indenting my skin reflects the light of the situation.
Your eyes.
"I would never hurt you."

I hate you.
My eyes.
Filled with the tears from my non exsistant heart.
The heart that is yours.
The heart that is yours.

"I would never hurt you"
"You're the one thing I care about"
My eyes glisten as they stare into yours.
"I hate you"