The blade between my shoulders

There's blood on my hands.
I think most of it's mine.
We stand and watch cathedrals falling.
Their rubble is their pain.
You realize then you forget what you've been trying to retain.
I don't want to feel consequences, but I want to feel your arms.
My window's thrown open.
The incapability to forget precedes the incapability to regret.
I miss you.
Pens bleed my soul into paper.
A word weaver.
The gift is the curse.
A haunting in the words.
I don't know what I feel anymore.
My life on my hands, at the mercy of the hand on the knife.

I can see your eyes
big and round and haunting
Almost terrified
Almost.
I close my eyes to see yours.

Did you know that it doesn't hurt to cut yourself? At the time. It hurts after, it hurts before. But a smooth silver edge on your skin hurts less than the jagged one buried in your heart.

...but I like breathing...