The bearer of the knife - I

I wrote you a poem

and then I lost it, I must've thrown it away.

This is what it is like to have your thoughts invaded by the bearer of the knife.

It went something like this:

You say I gave you back your knife. A rusty blade, a wooden handle.
How can you be surprised?

I could get married to your sadness.

I'd curl up naked and live in your eyes. Forever more.

I'd cut myself to share your pain.

I'd give up light and lurk in shadows, just like you.

I'd give up words. A dowry of silence. 


My bearer of the knife,

we: united by fears, exchanging blades. 


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