That Knife
In my back is bleeding me dry
for one who claims to wear her heart on her sleeve
it is an awful shade of black
When you coat your words
in that sweet sticky cream
it makes me want to believe,
believe that you are telling me the truth
as you slide that steel between my ribs
and that little sigh of oh
that slips from between my dying lips
and the rage that follows
that lasts for all of two hours
because you sweet talk your way out
oh those words you throw in my face
and act like your superior to me
when I know I could kill you
in four small words
"you're dead to me"