a thought, lingers over to what it has become
merciful, grace in honor of the wretched, despiteful
turning away from darkness beyond, and the lights flicker
and to the last breath of my sanity
i could feel, i could feel them
they crawl up to me
slowly, gently
in aspiration and awe
just to only crawl in
deep into our skins
to pierce us over
with their hatred, guilt, pain
a knife
hearing over the conversation
catastrophe and mocking
drama and gossips
the sharp specular object begging
begging "please stop. please."
they could not see that knife
they could only listen to their heads
their thought crumpling up into a fist
into a large, painful, desolated fist
his mouth, sending bullets and daggers
forth ammunition to their colleagues
each day magazines upon magazines
of ammunition
shared amongst the many
the majority
while the knife stands alone
watching over all of them
only begging
silently,
carefully
the knife wanted no rage
the knife wanted no grudge
hatred
disgust
pain
it wants to be noticed
it wants to be in the whole group
it doesn't want to be knocked away
thrown away to the filth
and a weapon to be frightened of
it wants to be listened
but no one did it
instead, packed many and many ammunition
ready to shoot it down
once and for all
so that they may be free
and so that they may not need to fear
not need to care
not need to give a shit
about a knife
but at the end of the day
the knife wins.
