Full Moon

A pulse, your pulse,

it floats to me through

waves of light

that come from

the sky.

That horrible light

that makes you

scream and fall

to the floor. The

kind that shifts

your bones with awful

cracking noises that

resound in never

ending echoes across

the room.

And then, when you're

you again, I can see

the blades of the knives

sitting on the counter

reflected in your eyes,

and I know

that some nights

when I'm asleep,

you come down and

touch them, thinking

of what they could do

to you; what relief

they could give you.

And I stay,

because you need

to live and because

I love you.

But now that I'm

gone, who's to stop

you from plunging

the blade into your heart?