posted on Jan, 28 2015 @ 02:43 PM
The knife, three-fold bright and steely,
sharply and with sting,
found a clever nook
where clever aim it took
and deeply fell,
begging crimson rivers of my life
The night, two-fold black and brooding,
vile beyond remorse,
begot the ashen ember
and nigh upon November
beckoned hell,
burning sickly demons in my sight
My life, one last light lamenting,
desperately divine,
gave itself intently
and supplicating gently
wished them well,
laughing in the mirror of the knife
edit on 1/28/2015 by InTheFlesh1980 because: (no reason given)