I'd like for you to feel this. I'd love for you to
cry tears of fire that melt away your dishonest
smile.
I lick the blade,
and I'm reminded of the time you cut your
lip, and I kissed it better.
As I run my tongue along the silver,
I feel more than you've ever let
me. As I run the blade along my tongue, I feel
more than you. Can I separate myself from the
memories that flood back into my mind? Like all
the times I gave up on myself and let myself die?
I lick the blade, and I realize that the blood
tastes better than kisses you've blessed me with.
I'll never regret a thing. This is my knife, and
I'm glued to the handle.
