Tuesday, February 16, 2010

My Fingers Barely Brush The Blade

There once was a time I'd do anything to keep you from hurting. Even when you stabbed me in the back, I pleaded for your safety.

But the knife is getting rusty with the blood. The painkillers have worn off. Despite my sacrifices, your hand still pushes the knife further.

I'm sure if I could reach the knife now, I would kill you with it.

No comments:

Post a Comment