the knife remembers

i never meant for the silence to sound this loud, but it curled up in my throat and made a home.

the mirror fogged, not from steam, but from the things I didn't say.

there's a knife in the drawer that knows my name, its grin sharper than mine will ever be.

i touch it, and it hums like a secret i can't keep.

blood is only red until the light hits it wrong, then it's black, then it's gone.

sometimes I wonder if I'm already gone too, just walking around, borrowing a body.

forgive me, father, I've written my sins in the margins.

crossed out the prayers.

ink looks too much like veins.

pages tear too easy.

and still, the knife remembers.

and still, I let it.