I am the one that holds the knife
to your throat.
Because you are afraid.
I feel it,
in the coiled snake when you swallow,
pulse hammers against your thin veil,
the stream that keeps you alive.
Your almost translucent barrier that separates
you alive, from death.
I am the one that frees you,
spills red that holds you tighter, knows you
better than I ever can.
Watch as you squirt through the cracks
in my fingers. Escape into the bleached
sink below the mirror.
Where it’s just me.
Covered in you. And I have never felt
more apart from you.
I hate you for that.