Saturday, June 6, 2009

Claw at my skin,
Dig deep into my flesh,
Pull out this heart,
Bloody as it may be,
Take your shaky hands,
Cut them up in pieces,
Slice.
Again.
Don’t stop till there’s nothing left,
Keep going.
The blood that drips,
That pours to the ground,
Will never amount to this soaked heart.
Step back.
Admire your work.
You never took care,
Till the victim was you.
What does it feel like,
The other side?
Crawling back for more,
There’s no sympathy to be found here.
The blame you try,
To pass on to another,
As you hold the knife in your hand.
Don’t forget who brought you to this sacred place,
It’s your that heart pounds.
You continue to push it aside,
Trying always to stop its bleeding.
Is it the “feeling you’re already afraid of,
When you already feel so much?
Feel.
Feel the heart you hold.
My innocence in you palm,
Dripping down your arm,
Scolding the flesh.
I feel the hand, your hand.
Your tense, tearing grip.
This time kill me slowly.
Lead you want,
I’ll take what’s mine.
This pumping organ belongs inside me,
Without your control.
I bleed to see again.
Useless and depend on you,
Hidden from the world’s eye,
Captured and kept behind bars.
Free from experience,
Strengthened by pain.
Evil is an empowerment,
And I’m what you created.

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