Knife

When it kicks in it

Hurts like a bitch till you

Pass out from the Numb Pain and

Float through Oblivion looking for

Thought in Madness and

Substance of Pleasure in

the Air of Discomfort and

the Air of liberty in

Substance of That Smooth Sharp Knife at

Your Wrist.

Hurt, scream,

In an Empty Apartment where

No one hears you nor

Do they care about

Your Suffering of

            Feelings lost and won by

Pain won and lost through

            Pig-Headed Perseverance all

Coming back to that

Sweet Sharp Knife at

Your Wrist.

Be a White Sheep out of

The Multitudes of Blacks in

A Society bent on Differences to

Look Cool and be Hot while

Maintaining Firm Grips on Sanity Despite

Pressure of that Inevitable Cooker in

Hell’s real Kitchen inviting in

            All those who dare to

Hold That Dreaded Sharp Knife to

            Your Wrist.

Deaths starting and Lives ending in

            Circles of searches for

Ultimate Morality in lack of purity due to

            Futility of Perfection out of

Discovery that the Moral is

            Only that which lies in

That Same Sharp Knife at

            Your wrist.

Moral: Wear wrist guards.