Poetry: Kitchen Knife

 Blood

             runs

across the light oak table

   and

  drips

 garnet

spheres

                                                                     to the varnished floor.

                                                                            Terror is found in numbness of the

                                                                                                    body and clarity of the mind. 

                                                                                                                          He knows as he stares

                                                                                             at the senseless

                                                            wounds weeping red tears on his arm

                                                     Knife dangling from his pale fingers, the

beat of his madness pulsing just

Below the skin;

                                                                                                I    can’t   feel

                                                                                                            I       can’t       feel.