Six Blade Knife

With this six blade knife, I pierce the darkness. A bubble of light bursts. More darkness, a deeper black charcoal fills my lungs. I feel this metallic screen press up against my chest. The walls closing in. In the moments before eternal darkness calls again, I scramble down into my carpenter jeans. Finger for the wooden varnished handle, rubbing my index against the engraving. A layer of my skin grips onto its grooves and stubbornly holds on as I free my hand from the pressed pocket. The six blade knife refusing to be awoken from its slumber tries to fall back in to the deep well of a pocket I own. As it begins to fly inbetween the canvas walls my fingers reach for it and slip around the handle. I feel my spine beginning to crack, my knees bending back under the pressure of these obsidian walls closing in. I attach a bit of thread, with my magic fingers (masters of the small eye), to the end of the handle. I release myself from all I wear and the thread attached, like a theatre pulley system on my shoulder, sends the knife upwards. The sandbags of my life disappear into the darkness. The six blade knife makes half a mission of those archaic drawn and quartered shows. At great speed it cuts a perfect line from my navel up my whole body, freeing my Adam’s apple. Then, finishing its incision the six blade knife departs from the crown of my skull. As it tries to join the burnt ash above, I squeeze my hand between the closing walls and pull it down to eye level. My skin and muscles start to unravel as the pressure builds. With a last effort I slip the blade handle into my left eye socket and it fights with my eye for space never felt. Using the last bit of tendons holding on a press forward with one great bow of my head—towards the great beyond. The tip of one of the six blades finds the walls surface. At the perfect angle. All that surrounds, bursts. All that contains, is free. No bubble of light this time, simply a sky or sea full of darkness. My body unravels, intestines and all floating freely in the darkness. Finally, the great coldness cradles my outstretched form, the dream of it all can feel the twinkle of the stars once more.

“How far can you be choked before the eternal calls? Hedonism or not it must be fun to dance with life. A general waste carrier for food. You went back for more. TWICE. After what happened, why? Darkness is light on the great stage. At night, and only tonight. She shines.”