I have a knife

For I am ablit to inflict pain

For upon the soul

For you should be weary

For noting goes

And nothing gone

Al is lost

All is gone

All but my knife

And your blood

Staining the floor

Head on the counter

With ear in my hand

Kissing your dead lips

Kissing your head

Pretending

But my knife and your soul

Would be no more

Than a dead dream

(Thanks with help from 🔥FIRE🔥with this poem)