She never minded the scars I carved.
She'd beg me for more, and as her wrists were tied in knots.
I'd make sure another night was never forgot.
Sure, she'd struggle, much as any of us must.
But she was lurching toward me wild and bewildered such.

She would calm as I tended wound and her panting
below became a parting of bloom. Springtime crept
in like a slow, low light on a horizon only meant
to be seen by us two.

Her struggle turned to sound and her mouth stuffed still.
Her lids heavy hiding stained glass eye windowed sill.
Her knees buckled with belt tied firm to keep her tight.
Her smile crept wide as tongue wetted what kept words inside.

Her drool ran and stained our sheets,
her eyes filled with tears which ran down cheeks.
Pleasing pleadings strung out by Morse code taps of her feet.
She was more than a canvas,
she became my tapestry.

the girl was impatient so she opened her drawer;
pulled out her old razor to bust the **** on the floor.

My presence is a burden.
The world has no room for a worthless body,
breathing but not mentally present-
each stroke of the razor,
slowly relieving me-
each drop of blood taking my burden off of someone's shoulders.
I was never meant to be here,
so I know the end is almost near.
This pain I feel inside,
sits right next to where emptiness resides.
Some live beautiful lives,
But me, I know I'm meant to die.

Fine,
if a bitter wind blows

Fine,
if a liar arrives

on my patio
hard heart
worn
right
with the
knuckle
skin

Fine,
pressed on the razor's edge
(grinning ear to ear as if I wanted it)

Fine,
when what was once the worst
(grinning ear to ear as if I wanted it)

returns to a placid place
below,
so

a new threat may
emerge

I've found myself on the razor's edge,
Like a figure skater.
I skate through life,
Avoiding hazards with grace,
Holding my head up high,
And spinning out of control
Once in a while,
Only to collect myself
In poised determination
And a flick of the wrist,
Brushing the worries away.