schizophrenic gone psycho

    she had slept with a knife-edged blade,

     and woke with the fear of having been woken

     by the spoken words that to others were always unspoken.

 

 

oh, my darling--

please come out of the rain.

your shivering makes me want to shiver.

 

where have you been?

why did you run off like that?

i heard your door slam and then…

 

well anyway, it's dangerous for a young woman

like yourself to be out all alone on a night like this--

dangerous I tell you.

 

please, please-- come inside, i'll brew a batch of warm tea;

warm tea warms cold bones.  you're so pale,

are you alright my darling?

 

something…

something seems to be troubling you.

is there anything i can do; someone i can call?

 

what was that my darling?  what was that

you said?  i didn't hear; i'm sure i heard

you say something though.

 

all right my darling, time to come in, out of the rain;

take my hand, please. 

come on-- please!

 

why won't you…

why do you tremble so my darling?

what is that in your hand!?

 

 

     through her silent stabs, the voices said what they had always needed

     to say.  they were just waiting for the right person to listen

     to the blade as it slung glistened drops to the moistened clay.