He Kept His Hands Steady

One thing could be said about him:

He kept his hands steady

 

His smile seemed genuine enough

when he washed his hands from the last

and said

I'm ready.

 

I could tell from the look in his eyes

He enjoyed each body to come under

his knife

His eyes cut much more

than the saw ever did

And his breathing sharpened and heart spiked at 102

And his breathing cut through the pulsing room

And his eyes were wide at flat and boring in

tracing lines he'd carve

through her skin

 

He'd roll up his sleeves and look down

And catch his breath

Because every

single

Cut he made would find its way

back to his skin.

"So that's why her eyes were so full."

 

I saw him sitting on a bench

at the park

with one hand he fed the ducks that begged

and flirted

The other tracing over each and every scar weaved over his arms.

When I said "Hello," all he did was

 

wave

 

and go back to flirting.

 

The next day

the kid from down the street thumped a newspaper at

the hilt of my door

and When I finally took time to pop open the front page

my heart split in two

 

The picutre's smile was genuine enough

 

I raced to his house that day

I could still see the brains that webbed on

the ceiling,

A hole in the paint that should

never have come.

 

At least one thing could be said about him:

He kept his hands steady.

Reviews

[HappyTaylor]

This is so wonderful...I love it.

[James Johnson]

wow, this is a great poem.

[c.m.]

Bam...that last line hits you like a ton of bricks. Just goes to show, people aren't as happy or put together as they seem...very powerful piece.

[MusicMartyrs]

wow a great perspective of how people arent always what they seem, very powerful