Good or bad you choose
gleaming the blade never cares
spring brings red blossom.

Change only for yourself
only you decide.

Thought sharper than steel
the blade cuts where the mind guides
all growth is change.

The blade is always waiting
cold and patient for your touch.

Who can comprehend
sensuality in steel
a blades tenderness.

Cold steel or obsidians edge
your skin yields to its touch.

Quiet, passive, cold
the blade awaits your command
your will to move it.

To cut your desires in flesh
to leave thought in broken skin.

Put down forgotten
in sleep dreaming of your will
the blade lies dormant.

To awaken at your behest
only to serve your purpose.

Friend or nemesis
indifferent they serve you
following your thought.

Dharma cold against your skin
gate-less entering your mind.

Soft. Take up the blade
formed once by anothers hand
bend it to your whim.

Imbue it with your spirit
your motives and your dreams.

Only in your hand
does its soul glisten, a thing
of aching beauty.

Blade has no desire
save the spirit that you share.

Trusting you blade waits
every mood mirrored in its
cold eternal lines.

Your hand provides its purpose
your will, your desire, its hunger.

Its spirit shaped
within each and every cut
honed upon your thought.

Its soul made in your image
cruel or tender you decide.

its every motion
recalled and treasured
captive to the past.

You are free to walk away
and remake yourself once more.

Slave to your passing
blade lies bound upon its past
helpless to reform.

Consider what you desire
when you take blade in your hand.

Sure in your purpose
There is nothing left to doubt
only metal on skin.

And if another took the blade
held it soft against your skin.

Its spirit unknown,
desires alien to your thought
would it feel the same.

Anothers thought cut deeply
anothers dreams upon your skin.

Would you want passion
for the blade or for yourself
in that guiding hand.

What thoughts do you desire
if some other holds the blade.

A warm and tender soul
or a spirit cold as death
caring as the knife?

Does it matter to your need
what motivates this life?

Would you want to ask
if you matter less than steel
where you really stand.

Would you halt if answered
"The blades the mistress here"?

Needing gentle touch
would you take soft caresses
given to the knife.

If cold steel eyes beheld you
would you trust the moving blade.

Feeling others taste
is there beauty in each cut
made upon your skin?

A lovers hand upon you
but their lover is the knife.

Words that pass between
traced soft upon your skin
trusted to your soul.

But is it just sensation
that you seek to gratify?

Just a passing fad
that is quickly put aside
never really there.

The other may remember
their artistry in blood.

sharing of their soul
in the eloquence of steel
marks upon your skin.

Other dreams left upon you
just a fading memory.

Will you remember
the others blade upon you
as scars fade away.

Would you share their blades desire
hold their memory with your own?

Tell them of your need
your motives and desire
trust them with it all?

In silent understanding
the other, the blade and you.

Steel edge awaiting
to echo all desires
tracing them in red.

recall your motivation
and before it all begins.

Then the knife begins
trailing soft upon your skin.
Will you surrender?

accepting crimson kisses
from the sharp edge of their will.

Softly seducing
both your body and your mind
feeding your desire.

With tender lacerations
that cut deeper that it seems.

Can you accept this
the blade become a lover
cherishing your soul.

Yourself the inspiration
to the patterns that you feel.

What feeling fills you
when these kisses touch your skin
anger or desire?

Each cut showing a new way
a path to understand.

Would being held disturb
your previous expectations
grown in angers mist?

The blades a gentle lover
when used by one that cares.

Tracing throat and chest
in gentle sweeping curves
never breaking skin.

Feather light the knife may move
in a wandering caress.

So softly teasing
like a secret gentle breeze
passing, gone, unseen.

If gentle arms surround you
would the knife then please you less?

And if the other
told you stories of the blade
would you even hear?

A thousand glistening rubies
now shimmer on your skin.

Soft now and careful
your lips are painted crimson
by the bloodied blade.

Does such a passion please you
does it set your being aflame?

Soft upon your face
closing eyes and parting lips
steel kisses rain.

If human kisses follow,
along all your cuts and scars.

Will it spoil the game
reminding you another
stands behind the blade?

Or could you yet accept this
adoration from a knife?

If such upsets you
then best leave all knives aside
let their feelings sleep.

Still learning of your passions
this may be no casual fling.

For all are changed,
forever by caresses
from a gentle blade.

Cutting deeper than the skin
through to your most hidden self.

Some marks never fade
a secret crest forever
plain for none to see.

Keeping company with knives
they will mark you as their own.

Ever patients friends
offering only comfort
in your time of need.

Not everyone hears the song
the blades gentle lullaby.

Song of flesh and steel
how can any comprehend
your clear vibrant score.

The tallies made upon you
that record your every mood.

Anger, pain or sorrow
these are all that most can see
never ecstasy.

Exquisite joy and pleasure
these also the knife can bring.

Dancing in your hand
glittering under starlight
alive for you alone.

Like some fae midnight spirit
a fair noble from the sidhe.

Poised and elegant
soft whispering of wonders
told for you alone.

Blade never breaks a promise
but listen to every word.

Is the cost too high
a step or two more distant
from the world you knew.

Yet blade will be there waiting
to great you with open arms.

Waiting there forever.
So why do you hesitate
whisper to the blade.

The knife has not forgotten
there are words you have to share.

Thoughts only spoken,
when with emotion you have bled,
wept in crimson tears.

A steel hand of comfort
to help as best you can.

Will you take its gift
of freedom and sharp pleasures
choosing yet to live?

Suffering put behind you,
no guilt, you are accepted.

Alone no longer
in these palaces and halls
see the silent throng.

To dance with steel spirits
that all share a hidden flame.

Will you risk it all
your suffering and sorrow
lost in the next cut?