Potential

in poetry •  9 years ago 

I watch you holding a knife like a date you've been postponing
you breathe in colors you might not see
my begging becomes some kind of mantra

You could have loved the saturated emotions
as much as I see the voices you ignore
you must have forgotten them in some kind of ritual

That knife starts carving your stomach
your skin decorative and soft
I try to remind you of the details you held sacred

Wrinkled hands you used to use to hold your heart in
pulling hard on parts you do not want
I must be feeling something you never knew

Feet apart from each other
you tell me you are evil
I say you are loved

Even with your blood and terror
I see light and stand in awe
I want to feel you
I grab the knife
and put your hands over my mouth

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