It fell from my hands,
The knife,
It landed on the floor with a loud cry,
It screamed out and lie on the ground,
Broken and in pain,
Red covered it,
It skipped along the slim,
Sleek,
Silvery blade,
It trickled down the knife,
I looked at it with pity,
That poor blade,
With the little puddle of thick red underneath it's tip,
The way that red liquid dripped from the blade,
The way it seemed to be runny,
But sticky,
All at the same time,
I suddenly felt a pain,
It seeped into me,
It tore a hole in my side,
I cried out,
Just as the knife had done as it hit the stone cold floor,
I screamed and let tears fall from my face,
I remembered where the knife had fallen from,
And I remembered what the red liquid was,
As I felt my memory soar back,
I felt the bony hands of death himself wrapped around my shoulders.