Carvings in the Wall

Sitting still, no sound.
A deafening screech across the cement.
The knife so loud, but it is not heard.
It carves your name on the wall.

A testament to will and loyalty.
Gifts that can never be erased.
The only ones you can appreciate.
Do you trust me now?

Schooling was always a drag.
But the knife hacks at the wood desks.
It spells the name of lost promises.
Bleeding dust, and chips of love.

Simple thoughts that you can remember of us.
The hearts on the letters you sent are useless to me.
Rereading, they never seemed so prolix.
Knives tearing the walls, they speak of passion.

Protecting love with both arms.
What you saw as jest, was really fact.
The arms are a barrier to injury.
And the blade carves your name to them.