I cannot describe it
This black substance, holding on to me like a rusted hook
It's all around me when I think of you
It's everywhere I look

I'd wish to be untied
To be forever free
But it seems impossible
I see myself down on one ****** knee

It tugs on me
I feel too weak to stand my ground
I know there's light still
I feel too vigorous to make no sound

I leave it up to you, give you power over me
I let it be
I close my eyes
This you is all I see

Still I won't break
My soul is my own and it is free
You will always lose
For it belongs to only me

I see you proudly entering this room
Vanity your most precious trade
A thirst for eminence, for appreciation
Telling of honorable intentions but the truth follows you like a shade

Ruining strangers bodies like a persistent disease
Laughing at them for speaking true
After cutting their insides with poisonous knives
But you're never really listening, are you?

But remember, no lie lives forever
And I can already see you, see you vanish from all sights
And all your knives blunt-edged,
You, merely an unlovable memory, like a dying sea disappearing with all it's tides.

And we will all turn away
Forget you like you weren't anything but a bad dream
Woeful creature
All this useless self-doubt, nothing but hot steam

And I will remain
With one ****** knee on concrete, still surrounded,
The me will prevail and I will heal, get up and leave,
For I will no longer be wounded.

I have saved a grand total of 3 lives... maybe.

2 lives probably.

1 life definitely.

I have saved the same life multiple times. Once from suffocation, once in a runaway situation.

I have saved myself numerous times. Twice from suicide... almost. And countless times over from personal trauma and pain.

I think I like pain too much. Yeah, I think I like pain a lot.
I think I like pain because it makes me feel human.

Because if I'm suffering, then the body is working, and if the body is working, nothing is wrong on the outside.

And by outside, I simply mean, the side that people ignore the easiest.

So when I get no reaction from anyone, it's okay. I know what it's like to get ******* over every day by everyone.

It's cool. No big deal.

I like weapons way too much, I like really cool blades and badass guns that for some reason are attached to electric guitars.

I'm a martial arts teacher. Which means that I am responsible for teaching young lives to survive until they are old lives.

I've never had to bare scars on my forearms. But I would like to bare tattoos... but only if you'll sign it with:

"Remember when I was here? Because I don't".

Hahaha... You're funny like that.

You seem to like knives too, you've made my back a knife block out of my back. You like to cook, don't you? Slice me up like one of your best works of art and I will scream how genius you are.

No.

There is no more room for me on a plate for you to serve up!

I...

I would constantly wash dishes after cooking in class. And I would always make sure I picked up some of your plates if I could because doing good things in secret was the closest I ever got to you.

And you went and replaced me with a seemingly nicer, shorter, pretty blonde who was everything that I was... but more

But it killed me that she wasn't me. Or maybe that I wasn't her.

Because she matters to you and that just cuts me up. One day I'll brandish a pocketknife with your name on it.

And every time I want to **** myself over what happened, I have to remember that no matter how many knives are in my back...

I have to keep this one in my pocket.

My innocence died with you.

That night in July last year.

The last time I believed in foolish love.

I knew from the moment I saw you..
That it was gonna hurt.

And it did.
It hurt more that I could ever imagine.

Loving you was hell, it was a thousand knives in the chest. Constantly.

How do I get them out?

Butane*

I swallowed knives,
coughed up blood,
your un-inked mistakes
entered my body
and you didn't feel
like love anymore,
you were mind-numbing,
a flame guzzler,
itching for someone
to love you
no matter how
fake you were.

I watched her play with a knife last night.
It twirled beneath her fingers,
letting the moonlight glint off of the metal devilishly.
It seemed tempting.
Something so elegant couldn't possibly cause such desperate violence.
Something so refined couldn't possibly cause such dreadful wreckage.

I watched her play with a knife last night.
It tapped upon her desk,
creating invisible scars that cut deeper into the wood each week.
It seemed ridiculous.
She could simply put down the knife and she wouldn't be in pain.
She could simply put down the knife and her scars could heal.

I picked up the knife last night.
It darted between my fingers,
daringly darting and narrowly missing the edges of my skin.
If I slipped, I could be just as scarred as she is.
If I slipped, I could finally feel something other than fear.

Oops.

We are two animals trapped inside a glass box
Nothing to say or do that isn't lost inside our thoughts
You hope to find an inkling inside the broken chatterbox
But mostly deny what's inside the two time Goldilocks
Is it too cold, too hot, or just right?
Hit me up on the flip side and I'll keep you lukewarm tonight.
Who's eyes light up your insides like a rotten Jack O'lantern?
Who's argyle style lies in all the wrong patterns?
I'm loose like a cannon or a bad set of tie rods.
You can hear the truth speak when you read it in my scrimshaws.
Bear claws
I'll Tear apart your life like the jaws of life.
Tear you apart like a knife like jaws did Richard Dreyfuss
What?
Say what?
This guy writes like Jackson ******* drinks
And paints like Charles Bukowski.
His life pours out in lines like the inside of a chocolate factory.
When asked where is his mind he pointed to his heart,
and said to them:  
"you shouldn't play with knives when you're dancing in the dark."