“When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.”

I read those words and thought about you

I believe your knife wasn’t all that sharp… or was it?

I don’t remember. Or I’d rather forget.

A long knife – shimmered with gold

So blunt – yet I managed to bleed.

The carpet is soaked crimson

My stomach is folded into crisp sheets

My limbs are stretched into twisted roots

I beg you, “See me”

I beg you, “Feed me”

I beg you, “Fill my void”

I forget that you were the one that created it.

You are the glowing sunshine

The muse, The prophecy, The silence at the end of a stormy night 

You made all this possible –

Without you, I am nothing.

So I lick my wounds with the coldness of my breath

Wash the carpet with the water of life

Graze the sweet earth with my calloused palms 

Waiting for you, hoping for you, to see me. 

I am here. 

Waiting. 

I don’t care that your love is a knife, I know of no other love. 

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