Playing with Knives

A hand on my arm,

Too tight,

Painful.

 

Searing,

Glaring eyes,

Burn red with anger.

 

My face seems meek,

Scared,

Complacent.

 

Inside I burn too,

Imagining the pain I can cause you,

I know I'm stronger than you.

 

You use your words like weapons,

Cutting into my flesh

To leave me as nothing.

 

I'm not paying attention,

I'm staring

At the very-real knife you've just picked up.

 

It's held to my arm,

I can feel the blade.

My anger turns to fear.

 

You keep it there,

Ensuring I take you seriously

As drops of blood begin to show.

 

Now,

If only you could read my scathing thoughts.

Reviews

[Chris]

Intimidation and introspection... and other "i" -begun words. Quite a range of reality.

[Emily B]

it doesn't sound like play . . . excellent, powerful poetry though