For Christmas I was surprising you
with another pocket knife
for your collection.
Nothing fancy,
just something that I thought
you would like.
Now here we are,
mere days before Christmas
and you're gone.
You said you were all mine,
but turns out that wasn't quite true.
You always wanted her;
she always wanted you.
Now in a flash of good tidings
and great joy,
she's your girl and
you're her boy.
Where does that leave me?
Sitting here wondering what to do
about this knife.
Can't give it to you now.
Could return it to the store.
Or better yet, perhaps,
I could try it on for size
see if it makes the pain hurt a little less;
my guess is more.
Only a few slight swipes across
my arm,
just enough to free some of the
built up pain
not enough to do any true harm.
I could do it,
Merry Fucking Christmas to me.
See how well it works,
or just let it be.
I was going to say,
when I gave it to you,
it wasn't to ever be used that way.
Does that instruction still apply,
if it's me who who wants to try
to stop the hurt-
but not to die?
Give me a better reason to cry?
I knew what I was getting into,
I knew our chance was small,
I just didn't expect things to fall apart
so quick.
I'm really tired of crying.
So tired of feeling sick.
Maybe I can make it go away...
just a little taste of
what would have been your pocket knife,
just a little visit with it's shiny blade.
All I need is a few moments
to make its acquaintance
open up my flesh and watch it bleed
simply for a moment,
why delay?
I can't.
I won't.
Why?
I promised you.
And I made you promise too.
I try not to break my promises,
so it seems the broken heart gets to stay
and no droplets of my blood shall trickle forth today.
For you,
I will do this for you.
And as hard as it is to say,
I wish you both a happy tomorrow
a life filled with no more sorrow.
May your future together be merry and bright,
may sharp objects no longer hold their appeal.
May you no longer find reasons for self harm-
imagined or real.
May you always remember I'm here for you,
I held up my end of the bargain,
and that pocket knife blade won't kiss my tender skin.
It's better left for lips to touch anyways...
If it doesn't work out you know where to find me,
but I hope for your sake it does.
You deserve to be happy .
-MS
*This is not good. It's utter shit really, but it's been in my head and I needed it out. Sorry to anyone who wastes the time reading it.*
