I Lent Her A Knife Poem by fleur the tulip sniper

to dance with my blade
is to taste the hell that i've made

i sit scarred to to death
holding my breath

watching the razors edge
she is standing on the ledge

the fine steel her fingers caress
i sit there a shaking mess

if a dropp of her blood it spills
myself i would surely kill

she dances on blade of knife
toying with her precious life

i lent her this tool of destruction
this tool of demons construction