Knitting needles make excellent murder weapons

It is the swirling inside that brings me to my knees

And leaves me at the touch of your mercy

But it does not dampen my bright eyes.

I am simply not that easily tormented,

Too used to my own strikes of hatred

You can't see the scars underneath long fabric plasters

And thousands of layered glass shards

Bound in place with the strings of my wounds

And the very weapons I used myself

Kept in a bundle of hazardous memory

A pinprick

Momentous enough to cause a snapping within the sapphire's sighs of relentless anger.

I know that when it won't be enough,

You will starve with me.