Shank

 I lay beside the knife, prison shank, blink it becomes a 12" butcher knife. I'm not blessed, I guess I'll get dressed in Sunday best and slit my wrist.. Beat fate to the punch, in the holy book Christ died for my sins. In that case I've stabbed Jesus with wrongs never made right. Stabbed with a prison shank 12" butcher knife.

Visions of the blade cuts through my night dream, making the night scream at the sight of unholy blood.. I lay beside the knife, feeling the chill of cold steel, wondering if God listens to my appeals.

His youngest son sleeps lightly...

The razor sharp edge of reality sleeps in my bed.

Separating love from hate in a heart that beats for two masters....

I lay beside the knife, kiss the blade as she shaves off layers of life...

Doing my dance, on the point of a prison shank, 12" butcher knife....