the thing is, i am also a knife. i will leave you bleeding all over the floor.
this is why i’m afraid of sharp objects.
the thing is, steel meets steel will always resulted in falling in love,
and the thing is, this will always end in disaster.
the thing is, it happened before.
first there was the scalpel, in the life where i was the doctor.
this is why i’d always perform small autopsies on everything i do,
why i have a morgue in place of a heart.
then came the sword, in the life where i was the star-crossed lover.
this is why i’d always slit my own throat whenever i fall in love–
the result is always the same.
after, it was the gun, in the life where i was the soldier.
bullets are sharp objects too, and oh, how they throttle and kill.
this is why i’d always march obediently into my own doom,
why i’d always play the same part again & again,
even if i know how it will end.
the thing is, i am the poet now,
and i play with pens. pens and pencils and words, all sharp things,
all atomic bombs, all weapons of mass destruction.
the thing is, i am a weapon, and i don’t know how to stop.
the thing is, i don’t know if i wanted to stop.