- Joined
- Aug 13, 2002
- Messages
- 439
As I wake up from a slumbering sleep, take a shower, and get dressed, I stare at my collection on the dresser, without a second thought I shove my small sebenza in my pocket as I hurry out the door. My other knives saying take me, take me, coughing on the dust in their pivots. It seems as though Ive forget them, but as I return home, I always calm their anticipations, opening, closing, as if they were my children, maybe tommorow AFCK, OK spydie, next time Boa. its sad all these good knives, I leave sulking on the shelf. I only wish I had twenty pockets to spoil them all, o'well I guess Ill have to make it up to them next time.