The Pocket Knife

My knife lays hidden
In my room
Coated in my dry blood

When the day's been cruel
My knife waits
To be covered in fresh blood

When I finish
My knife keeps the blood
Hoards it, like a brutal reminder

My knife knows
That blood is what I'm after
It never fails to satisfy me

I wish I could communicate
With my knife
I would thank it for the blood

I cannot cry real tears anymore
But I can bleed
Thank you knife, blood is better