...at the end

of the knife

was a hand

with a scar

and a Life...

07.26.2020

at the end of the knife challenge @ColdRamen

It was hot. The club was a kaleidoscope of dimly lit movement and sound. The crimson floors and walls of the room seemed alive, glistening with the sweat of a hundred bodies, pulsating to the beat of the loud music. The small space was bursting with the energy of dozens of undulating bodies writhing rhythmically, almost in sync, sharing in the pleasure of sensual abandon.

Alone, Alyssa stood off to the side, observing, delighting in the spectacle. Then she noticed him. Beneath half-closed eyes, she watched him prowl the edges of the dance floor, watching the bodies slide on and around each other in a frenetic waltz of publicly displayed desire seeking private release. He moved with the grace of a feline predator, stealthily seeking its prey. She turned her head to hide a smile. She was certain that she would taste him before the night was over. She knew what she wanted. She had no qualms about reaching out and grabbing it when the opportunity presented itself.

When she turned back to find the prowler, he was not even a breath away. “Come,” he said, turning away, assuming she would follow.

She smirked and followed unhurriedly. Down the hall, pass the rest rooms, out the back door to the alley behind the club. She walked right up to him, her body flush with his and whispered huskily, “So, what…”

Before she could finish he turned around in a quick smooth movement. In the moment before she knew, she thought he would press his lips to hers, seek her tongue with his, pull her soft curves against the hard planes of his body, shatter her senses with blissful release.

Unblinking, he stared into her eyes, barely breathing, heart beating to the rhythm of the music in the club. He watched the rapid display of emotions revealed by her eyes: Heated desire changed to fear, shock, confusion, understanding, excruciating pain, fury, hopelessness, acceptance, oblivion. He let her slide out of his grasp then, the slim, razor-sharp knife still protruding from her chest, as he slipped into the shadows of the night.

at the end

of the knife

there's a chest

covered in a ripped

cornflower blouse.

slashed skin,

peeks of

white bone,

and wrapped

around the tip,

a broken heart,

figuratively,

and of course,

literally.

only now do i

realize what i've done.

There you scream, tears in eyes

And I stop to wonder why

Why is it that it's ending like this?

And yet I stare and glare at your image from afar

They call for help

They wift you away

And there you stay another day

I wonder what comes at the end of the knife

....when apart of your insides are torn out

And then many hours have come and gone and I get to discover

After the knife is a new beginning

one with ten fingers and toes

And no longer do I suffer;

for, the rips, tears and pain

Results in the greatest gain.

At the end of the knife

We expect our closest friends

Our blood to spill

Our life to end slowly

As writers we expect a metaphor at the end of the knife

But some things are bound to get cut

No reasoning, no metaphor

Some things just can’t be explained

But somehow, what’s at the end of that knife

Just makes sense

at the end of the knife

I saw the light

go out of her eyes

she didn’t even try

to save her own life

she reached nirvana

as the knife went through her

she reached sainthood

because god couldn’t save her

Paralyzed at the end of a knife.

Eyes shut.

Cheeks cut.

Drip

. .

Drip

. .

Drip

. . . .

A blade against my heaving chest.

Head high.

Don’t cry.

Tick

. .

Tick

. .

Tick

. . . .

Blade pushed further, now up to my heart.

Time slows.

Clock froze.

Shh

. .

Shh

. .

Shh

. . . .

You only take your last breath once.

Death’s vow:

Sleep now.

. .

. .

. . . .