knives
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I can be used for simple things,
Carving, cutlery and pain.
Doctors use a form of me, when they cut into your brain.
I’m used in art, as both the method and subject,
I'm always smiling.
I am beautiful.
My heart is not broken.
I'm fine.
These are not tears.
I do not miss you,
nor do I need you.
Smooth wooden handle
6 inches, nearly 10 when flicked open
to reveal stainless steel
The blade marred only by a few oily fingerprints
and a speck of brown
It smells of dust
and of dried blood
Over the course of time
I’ve caught a couple knives in the back
From a couple friends
I thought it was kinda weird how they thought
It would feel good
He is laced with lies I was forced to sew underneath his skin.
I am an open book ready for her to rip the pages he so carefully inked.
She is a blade sharpened by the years of trust issues and lack of love.
