The knife lies in my hand.
The feeling is a stranger,
As I debate the pain and sorrow,
I debate the damage it will cause.
I cut the sting like i am slicing butter,
I am afraid to see what it can do.
I lay the knife on the bed for now,
So I can wipe away the tears.
Instead of letting the blood flow,
I try and imagine a perfect smile.
As soon as i forget this sweet sight,
I see the knife has disappeared.
I search around and find no desire.
No lies, no fear, no pain, no feeling.
In the hour of need the world was lost.
To me indeed the world was insight.
The knife was gone. The pain lived on.
The feeling subsided, the tears fell on.
The blood stayed in, but the hatred exploded.
And the dread died, as life continued on.
None the less, a relapse can come,
I remember when I let the blood fall.
The feelings inside of hatred to me.

Saying "GOD HELP ME NONE THE LESS."