Old Friend

by purple devil 87

Sock calls the knife at the beginning of the film his "old friend". So I wrote a little something about him meeting his "old friend" and how this "friend" influenced his life. The piece has a somewhat poetic feel to it all which I particularly like.

Silver blade chopping,

Down,

Down,

Down,

Against the cutting board.

Take it away,

From the cupboards,

Food boxes,

And kitchen,

Nobody notices the knife is gone.

Eye it cautiously,

Notice the tantalizing sharpness,

It's yours now.

Run your thumb along the edge,

Watch your fingers go slowly red.

Everything becomes tinted,

Till your hat's maroon,

Your scarf is a blood hue,

And your jeans are ripped,

And gaping,

Like your soul.

Your name becomes fragmented,

Less smooth and elongated,

From Napoleon maxwell-yadda yadda yadda,

Down to Sock.

You now handed death to the world,

Then your friends left,

Well not all friends it seems.

Your old friend,

Silver in hue,

Almost rusty from years of use

Still stays loyal.

Your old friend,

With its comfortingly worn blade,

You stab it in,

Again,

And again.

Laugh,

Smile,

Halt.

Your at the business end,

Don't pretend,

Your story goes on.

Because its all red now,

And you dug your hole,

Deep and boxy,

With a stony label,

Of the single word "Me".

6 feet under,

Bleeding out,

Dirt's a blanket,

Drawing you into,

The infinite sleep called hell.