The knife thrower.

I met a man who threw knives at walls.

He'd break knives with his frozen hands

Then,

Friends and lovers alike he'd cast out into the darkest nights.

Locking the doors in case they dared to return.

The sound of that metal snap resounding

The instant their heels cleared the threshold

He'd lock the doors with passion, while they stood broken at the top of his stairs.

He'd lock them out of his house built on apathy,

Built on, I am my father’s son

Built on, I will not break the cycle

Before I knew him as a knife thrower

He wore a mask

A painters mask made of poetry and triumph

A mask made of wanting more, doing better, and trails I wanted to help him climb

He wore a mask of "I want to dance with you"

He wore a mask of gentle nights in New York

A mask of a friend with whom to share tequila on a rooftop bar

A mask to walk miles, bare-chested against the hottest summer night.

Safe from the knives

Alas, it was only a mask.