The Knife

There he is,
Running toward you,
The knife in hand.

You stick your hands out,
Trying to keep him away,
But he cuts your arm.

Next you try and kick him,
Seeing if that would send him away,
You end up with three toes.

You take a turn for the worst,
Running toward him,
Before you know it you have a hole in your stomach.

There he is,
Standing above you,
With your heart in hand.

Standing over you he whispers,
"This...this is for the lies,
Saying how much you "loved" me,"
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sorry if this doesn't make sense, i haven't really wrote many poems like this before. hope you like it, though~ EDITED