Look For The Knife. Poem by Geoffrey Fafard

You can't get from me
What I was never given
I can't give you that
Which I was never taught
I read all your fickle advice
And I don't really care much
A built up snarling
Island of self
I happily have become
Protected on all sides by seas
Seas seething with the froth
Of protecting rage
And undercurrents
Of drowning spirit
Of biting terminal mistrust
And of a sweet personal hatred
Slyly targeting you, yes,
You read right
You my advisor
And tinted, tainted friend
So be on the alert
Next time you see
My outstretched hand
Or my smiling face
Look for the knife
In both.