The knife sinks deep
The handle of time
Twists the blade down
The sharpness penetrates
Blood vessels spurt 
Life ebbs like an expert
Will predict.
You want to escape 
Clutch the handle to stop the twisting
But the momentum is always downward
Pain is queuing up ready to leap
You are only now knee deep
for knives are avoidable
but blood is all there is.

You can promise yourself to leave them alone
But knives are twisters with a life of their own.
The shininess is really all too much
You can have life, alas, also have a knife.