Drawn Like Knives

Drawn Like Knives (25th June 2008, 11.05am)

Your innocence shaded in pencil by artistry
greater than mine. I suppose I am pen and ink,
just a series of stark little lines: blunt.

Catch my breath on the look in your eyes,
sharp as a scissor blade cutting out sense
from words that are loaded like guns,

and pointed at my lungs before I can breathe
again. Sentences fashioned from chalk
blurred at the edges, open to interpretation.

Without hesitation, fingers reach out
to trace brail tears that fall from my eyes
and run down my face, making their escape

before the flood. Accusations brought out,
drawn like knives across the surface of my
heart, a simple pattern you happen to carve,

and what if you’re right? Truth has been
disguised as lies before. We bring out our
weaponry, unsure what we’re fighting for.