Knife on throat.
Don’t pull a gun. Untie me, just leave the ring on the rail.
We couldn’t care less, about the man behind the knife. The blood he poured, who knows. His own or somebody else’s. You don’t see his guts in the dark, when you’re walking home alone at night. The scars.
Love will never die, but it kills you in the blink of an eye. Stop floating around, you blood. Bloody you.
The sunglasses called “Head”. Couldn’t stop giggling. An ex sunny day. Then he pulled a knife. You cannot wrestle a dove flying high.
I’m on parol, in this trap. Running. And I still see all these dragonflies everywhere.
