TRADING KNIVES
- May 15
- 1 min read
By Joeii Monday
I should be swept clean of you;
You, this grit
in my eye.
sand beneath my nail.
rotting flesh between my teeth.
The catching murmur trapped and rushing
within heartbeats I wish were simply
proper
yawning silence.
You.
poison thorn in my side
Crowning me with creeping and pained solitude
making me believe I could never find another
You.
When the bar is so thoughtlessly low.
Somehow, you are the one who succeeded.
in leaving
a scalding fingerprint on my soul.
And on nights like these it burns just so, and
how criminal
As I find myself wishing I stained your hands with the shine of me.
And you peel layer after layer to the bone
But somehow your bleeding raw is still not far enough.
In these sunless moments
when you realize you were the immovable shadow all along,
I was the light you blindly and ignorantly snuffed.
When I would have gladly swallowed you whole into the burning, sinful summer of me.
We could have traded old cards and new plans, and our sharpest knives.
I know.
Deep inside this fallen and bruised midnight.
We were both fools.