The knife’s edge looks to belong,
Longs to be a part of you.
Did you know that every glimpse of you,
Draws me closer to my destiny?
Every moment of the way,
From the staircase to the dusty bylane,
Is a splinter.
As you walk up to me,
The knife twirls in my grip,
Why don’t you notice me, even look at me?
Every sunset is a splash of red.
See, this in my hand,
Is a sunset brilliant red.
I have it in my fist,
Turning like the plastic globe,
Hold on to it like a drowning man to his last breath,
This is it, this is it.
This is the color of your lips, the wind against your hair,
This is every throbbing of your heart,
Every gasp of air you breathe,
And this is the clear cloudless sky,
Of your distant, intangible eyes.
See how the knife's blade sways with the wind.
This is it, this is it.
Do you feel it now?
Look at me, does the knife edge,
Seek every drop of your attention?
The faceless people stare blankly at you,
They drift with the wind like sail boats.
This is I. Rooted to this pit.
Recognize me, this is my face,
And this is my poignant gaze.
These are my cruel eyes,
Dark clouds in disguise.
These are my scars screaming, aching,
Every sinew boiling, brimming,
Clutching, Scratching.
Sinking.
I swear by the edge of this knife,
The earth will open up and all its fire,
Will burn you, like it has burnt me,
Hold on to me, this is it,
For you and me.
