What if my fingers
Could hold the blade
That cuts your throat
Your stiff little neck
Of coarse I’d never carry that blade
The one that would take your life
The shiv that I made to kill you
The one I’ll never use
You’re just too innocent
Ruined
It’s just too hopeless
The blade
Cutting through your gut
Stained by blood
And colored by rust
It’s so damn dull
A chore too kill with
Yet I’ll never fell the rush
Of slitting your throat
I’m just that way