Friday, April 22, 2011

Torn


Knife halfway in air, fragmented
guilt shivers in silent savagery, a
whispered doubt, echoing love.

See you drowning in my blood,
calling out, forsaken in ruins of
distress, fortitude ebbing slow.

Tremble at your screams, ringing
clear the fantasy of choice, irony
of I lingers, stings the paling red.  

For you the knives are rusty, left
invisible in my dark, a throbbing
temptation, seduction of death.   

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