a blade for the untitled

He couldn't help but read her…

and all he felt was her pain,

dripping from her wound,

that he somehow reopened.

It was never his intention to slice her wrist or kick her out.

He never wanted to watch her bleed…

if only he had something other than knives for hands to reach out to.

She laid there, bleeding out, as he could only watch from afar.

Red splatters sprinkled the garden.

Her beautiful smile sinking back into the earth of his memory

…his first thought;

“let her go, and hope the foliage and sunflowers cover her, from the sight of others.”

But there are no others… and there is no shame in loving someone to the point of death.

And she was his death.

He merely watched her go, as anger rushed over her, like a wave to a toy boat,

she lashed out

she held tight

she looked longingly into his eyes

He wished

and she sank

His knives unable to help even if he could

Deeper and deeper into the earth

at the base of the steps to the porch

next to the bohemian gnome

and the rusted swing

she fell out of sight

The yard, the swing, the porch, the entryway

the living room, the dinning room, the kitchen and bath

the bedroom, the office, the painting studio,

empty plates, and glasses never filled again,

and of course… the little nook with her cute little chair, staring out from the window

each of these places empty and quiet now

Only the sounds of her soft skin, beautiful mind, and trembling body are heard as she cascades into darkness… swallowed up by memories long since gone, and a love still sitting

she went with a rustle

her angelic body, nestling in between the earth, like water around a stone

she disintegrated into him

“let her go, and hope the foliage and sunflowers cover her, from the sight of others.”

He stood there, covered in blood, his blades all rusted over

“…it’s better this way.”

but he wondered if there was more he could have done

His blades for fingers

His shattered glass for hands

His worry of destroying more than what he already had

…he knew his purpose as he wished her return

but the garden had swallowed her up

and the sun had set

(it was dark now where they were both at)

and that was that

(so they thought)

Her body layout on the bed of the second floor

Her pink and gold skin sprinkled and smeared with dirt he did his best to wipe away

as small cuts fill in between the two

He was as gentle and vulnerable as he could ever be

(as scared as he was, to watch her wake)

…and she did wake.

and took his hands and grazed their sharp edges

…fully knowing that, without those horrifying blades, he could not have dug her up

only she knew how to navigate them

only she knew how to get around the sharp edges and quick wit

only she knew how to mold them into fingertips and slide herself in between them

only she could do this… and he knew it

This was her home.

There was no other owner or proprietor

There are no strangers living in it but a visitor from time to time only asking to move back in with her.

His hands still blades

it didn’t bother either of them

as only she knew how to handle him.