Dropped

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

I dropped it,

The slim, sharp piece of me

That made the rest of my insanity make sense.

It's shoved between the couch cushions of desire.

To fit in.

To staunch the bleeding.

To sleep through the night

Like some kind of idiot kid.

It fell.

Maybe somewhere in the snow

Or maybe right into the gutter, halfway gone,

Washed down the street with dog shit and old oil.

So it's gone.

Lost forever to the streets.

Stolen by some hungry pickpocket looking

For just the thing to put them back on their feet.

.

It's not gone

And I will find it,

I will wrench it out of someone else's hands

Because it was mine, is mine, and will always be mine.

I don't care if I have to

Make them bleed to get it back.

A little bit of blood and mess doesn't turn me off

From the heart and soul of the flaming fight because I'll win.

It's mine.

I was the idiot

Who let it slip out of my soul to begin with

But I won't be the idiot who decides to let it rot and rust.

I'll take it back.

I'll put the blade back on my tongue

And speak in words that cut because I can,

Because softness is glorified suicide when the world's at war.