as I reach out to touch, the world bleeds as though my fingers were serrated knives the cuts jagged, gaping, aching wounds coloring my soul with scarlet pain and so, my love, I need you to remember never let my fingers brush your heart when first we met, I marveled at your heart, you loved me, but rough touches made you bleed in empathy. why can’t you remember to guard yourself from me—a knife an injured beast who lashes out in pain— and yet you healed so quickly from the wounds— as though your essence couldn’t feel the wound that would have pierced another through the heart. when I saw that I had caused you pain I tried to turn, your suffering made me bleed— you said: it doesn’t hurt, there is no knife, once it’s pink and healing, why remember? but I hurt you. I needed to remember, that my careless touch made your wound. I want a penance, let me take the knife into myself, and let it undo my heart. I burn so bright and scorching as I bleed, and at its heated touch, I writhe with pain I fear that I again will cause you pain as I move I feel the world remember— it paints me red as iron as it bleeds until I am a gaping, open wound— look past me and you’ll see the world’s great heart laid open by my careless, hasty knife why won’t you let me sheathe the knife hide me away—so I will bring no pain— just lock me up, too far to touch your heart and know that in my cell I would remember your touch began to heal my aching wounds but reopened every time I saw you bleed. and with the knife away, the world won’t bleed and pain will cease, and healing conquer wounds while I trace burning heart-lines and remember. |