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.
Manastva 