words whispered to the edge of a knife

You could hurt me right now and I wouldn’t say a word. The way you hold the blade almost too closely, dangerously pressed against soft flesh, is enough to keep these lips quiet for at least a hundred years. You could kill me right now and nobody has to know. With the hours always passing slowly, I am waiting to follow the twisted trails that will lead me to death if not towards transcendence. If you were to apply only the slightest amount of pressure, I would spill my entire self to you, pouring forth secrets pumping from the soft machinery within the bony cage of my breast. You might know me in ways you never imagined. If even only a few drops fall, let us ride this river of red into darker territories than these where we now rest jaded, sedated, with lazy bodies and hazy minds.