PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I am trying not to hurt you with these knives I hold.

I have such horrible aim.

I am trying not to pull you off the track you laid.

I keep hallucinating the train coming.

I am trying not to take over your brain like a tumor.

I keep thinking about you until I’m stuck in your head.

I am trying not to cry as hard as I know you need to.

I am a river and I keep needing your skin like a drought.

I think the tears of this hunter

are as wet as the tears of the hunted,

and just as bitter.

I can sell sweet

but I have never been honey with this fast-paced flood,

words that can cut like tripping,

love that I can laugh with you

but it might just mean the blades are sharpening.

When I’m drowning in trusting you I am still holding knives.

This is the only thing that makes me a truth teller.

But when I look at you I turn pink with promises,

I only want to stay here four seasons of the year,

maybe more.

When I look at you I can only see

the countless hands that must have built this beautiful,

not the hammers I bring with me to cave it in,

please close my eyes for me

so I can know it again,

that my tools are not the kind that build.

Mouth open so I can spill my cracks into yours,

maybe here two wrongs make a right,

I hope you love to choke

because when I am living on the way you taste

that is all I can give you.

Breathe the scorch and all I can feel

is just how sharp these hands are.

I am trying not to hurt you with these knives I hold.

I have such horrible aim.