The Knife, Series One, Poem Three Poem by Austin Jones

As the blood runs from his
wrist
neck
the knife
slips from his fingers
and buries itself
in the ground at his feet
and heas a great tree
falls
and the life
drains from his eyes
falling
like rain from heaven
she runs
WHY!
NO!
and the knife
lies grinning
gleaming wet with red
fulfilled once again
its evil thirsts sated
and she sees it
drawn to its horrible beauty
picks it up
lusting for death
one
two
three cuts
and like a great tree
kneels
then falls
and the knife lies grinning
gleaming with red glee
full with blood
until
another
finds it
and
fills it once again