Talk To The Knife

SOOOOOOOO... I thought i could share this. I am pretty darn exited with this and 'mhmm...this could be an understanding group'.
So here goies nothing. Enjoy! I sure did writing it!

Talk to the knife

And I swear I know your face, I just don’t know who you are
Turn out the lights in this place and you shine like a star
… Like you’re right in my ear,
Whispering that you want to OWN me,


I wonder where I went wrong.

I must have made a bad decision. A misjudgment. To end up where I am today.

Something must have happened. No man can turn into a monster in the course of a day and night by sheer force of evil; and even if it were so, something must have put the germen to ferment in the obscure corners of the soul. From whence a virus has spread making everything sick with confusion.

Lately I’ve been trying to remember, but everything seems blurred out of focus. I don’t have many memories left now. Every time that I tune into the stations of my brain all I receive is static. I hear distant murmurs, in some occasions, of songs I used to know, but it’s so diffused that the echo makes me wonder if maybe it was just my imagination.

This is all I have now…

‘Oh, it’s not so bad Tommy.’

I don’t know what not believe anymore. Am I still me? Sometimes I feel that I have no longer control ever my actions. Have I allowed this voice to control me because it sounds like my own?

‘Don’t be silly. I’m just trying to help.’

That tone. I can’t stand it. It’s as if you mocked me with your damned sarcasm.

‘Always defensive. Why must you take it the wrong way? We’re together in this.’

I’m not so sure this is what I really wanted. The first time it was so thrilling. My heartbeat raced as if it were the one of a frightened bunny.

‘And the blood…’

Smooth as satin. I couldn’t believe how easily the flesh parted. Every cut I made with the grace a violinist rocks the bow, or an artist moves the brush to create a masterpiece. Because that’s what they were. I had to fix them.

I pity them because they ignore their own rot. Mannequins committing the horrendous transgression of acting like something they are not. All of them, ignorant to their own rigid and pallid bodies, latching onto the bloody sinew and organs that slip between cracks and screws.

What a joke! Those masks only fool those others who are also masked because they have forgotten their true faces.

‘Pot and kettle. Now that’s a joke.’

But of course I dress up too! I imagine the scandal or the ridicule of someone attending a costume party without the required deceiver-attire. Anyone would notice the lurking knife behind their backs otherwise. I hate being watched. As If I was on display. I prefer to let them fool one another; let them live that illusory happiness an instant longer…

‘Because you’re soooo compassionate.’

…allow them to tangle in their own steps. Let their dance make them dizzy and the masks free to mock them. So clueless! Completely unaware and careless of the shadows looming from over their shoulders.


Are you one of them? I’ve begun to believe you are the one with a problem. You are a twisted bastard who knows the strings there’s to pull to entrance me. Is your music so different from the others’?
‘Tommy, is that any way to talk to yourself? I believe you are circling this more than you ought to. There’s no reason not to trust me, I have showed you more truth than you could have discovered on your own. Can’t deny you liked it. Were the warmth and the smoothness and grace of the blood sliding over your skin not more gratifying than the attentions of any woman? Did you not contemplate with truly wide eyes the beauty of innards in their pulsating and twitchy glory?

The sounds. The screams. Naked pure truth shamelessly displaying for you its fine attributes? Do you really believe that God is the only deemed worthy to watch this?

I knew you were different. Only you could appreciate the beauty of Creation.'

Isn’t it ‘Destruction’ a more adequate word?

‘Not at all. Come on, is a mother not moved from laying ayes upon her child for the first time? Sheer crap. How wonderful would it be to them if they could watch through the inflated belly and witness the developing intestines floating not so far from the brain? A creepy and amorphous blob that writhes like an almost-catatonic slob until it molds into the form of Something almost decent. Though, I do believe there’s enough vomit to come by with the pregnant woman’s.

God would be one selfish bastard if he existed.

Tell me it isn’t fun; like disarming the mechanisms of a clock. Piece by small piece, stopping time itself .That is beautiful and I know you love it, tell me, don’t you-?'

How could I believe you!? I can never be sure if you are lying! Don’t you have free access to my mind to rummage and know what I want to hear? I know that I would have never killed if it weren’t for you.

‘You can’t blame for everything. You have thought about it too: Which one of these reflections on the broken glass is mine?

I could wonder the same. I have my own shadows, but I’ve learned not to be afraid of them. You shouldn’t either Tommy. C’mon, lift the knife and look. It’s a beautiful face but it doesn’t tell you much about who you are.

Feelings are not much help to you. Those are the worst of masks. Our good Bonaventura* knew this too. Divest of everything and scream into Nothingness. Let the echo enshroud you and the silver flashes of reflection overlap one another in the infinite Nothing and obscure mirrors. There, through the harmony of a perfect chaos is where you can listen to all your voices. If you put enough attention you recognize your own.’

I don’t want to die.

‘Only when you know the absolute Nothing can you appreciate life.’

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Idon’twantodie…

‘You’ve already helped many others. Redeem the unredeemable. And you have witnessed repentance and new-found hope… And I think it is time you took a well-deserved break. I promise to take good care of us tonight.’

Where did I go wrong? Why do you always send me to that ditch? When will you send the beasts for my heart? I know I could stop it if I had the power.

‘If you wanted the power.’

Always… every time we traverse this threshold full of nebula…

‘…there’s nightmares.’
(A/N): Bonaventura is the pen name for the author of 'Die nightwachen von Bonaventura'. Forgive me 'cause i don't know the translated version of the title. This is the original in german. But i'm sure it comes close to something like 'The nightwatch of Bonaventura.'
sayonaranow sayonaranow
18-21, F
1 Response Dec 13, 2012

I love it!!! <3

Heeeeeeeeeyyyyy!!!! It's so awesome to hear that. It's been a while since i posted this, so i was sorta forgetting about it. It's great to hear somebody likes:) Your comment lifts my spirit!!!! So thank you very much:D