How the knife dulls
She taught me many things, how to love,
how to express it. She taught me that love
is like an empire, flourishing and expanding
until it fills every inch of your body,
every hole filled,
every flaw dissolved away,
and every wound satiated.
The knife sharpening with every word exchanged.
Love leaves you feeling like you are salient,
as if you’re making a difference in someone's life
She taught me, and I listened with open ears,
watched with open eyes,
and loved with an open heart, 
and love came pouring out of her too.
The knife perfect, stainless, unmarred
However, she never taught me that all empires fall,
that it only takes just a few words to decimate them.
She taught me more than love: she taught depression,
anger, self loathing,
taught it like a class, and I the student.
Forced to endure every second of it,
no matter how much I wanted it to stop.
Her melancholy attitude, shallow words, and dim expressions
drove me mad, I knew it was over,
I could sense it; I had nothing to say.
The once sharp knife has dulled,
dulled by time, dulled by discord.
She took the knife, turning it on me
and drove it into each filled hole,
reopening every satiated wound,
each stung more than they did before.
After all, a dull knife hurts the most.