The Blade

My dried tears stained my face.
An ugly face,
A hated face.
The cool of the blade soothed my sorrow,
Although emptied my beating heart.
The blade gave birth to fresh tears,
Trickling down my face once more.
A twist in my stomach,
Telling me the blade was trying
To con me out of some blood.
I closed my eyes to remember,
The faces in my life.
They smiled at first,
However,
Their eyes glowed red,
Their smiled curled cruelly,
They told me the blade was right.
My eyes jerked open,
Squinting in the light.
I slammed the blade on the table,
And fled from the horrible sight.
My blood is mine,
And I refuse to share,
With that con-artist blade.