the world bleeds

as I reach out to touch, the world bleeds
as though my fingers were serrated knives
the cuts jagged, gaping, aching wounds
coloring my soul with scarlet pain
and so, my love, I need you to remember
never let my fingers brush your heart

when first we met, I marveled at your heart,
you loved me, but rough touches made you bleed
in empathy. why can’t you remember
to guard yourself from me—a knife
an injured beast who lashes out in pain—
and yet you healed so quickly from the wounds—

as though your essence couldn’t feel the wound
that would have pierced another through the heart.
when I saw that I had caused you pain
I tried to turn, your suffering made me bleed—
you said: it doesn’t hurt, there is no knife,
once it’s pink and healing, why remember?

but I hurt you. I needed to remember,
that my careless touch made your wound.
I want a penance, let me take the knife
into myself, and let it undo my heart.
I burn so bright and scorching as I bleed,
and at its heated touch, I writhe with pain

I fear that I again will cause you pain
as I move I feel the world remember—
it paints me red as iron as it bleeds
until I am a gaping, open wound—
look past me and you’ll see the world’s great heart
laid open by my careless, hasty knife

why won’t you let me sheathe the knife
hide me away—so I will bring no pain—
just lock me up, too far to touch your heart
and know that in my cell I would remember
your touch began to heal my aching wounds
but reopened every time I saw you bleed.

and with the knife away, the world won’t bleed
and pain will cease, and healing conquer wounds
while I trace burning heart-lines and remember.