I Won't Play With Knives

I was young, and DUMB. I was at the park with my ignorant babysitter, when I stumbled upon a kitchen knife, presumably left over from the picnics that are rife. I carried it over to a picnic table, and made ridges and cracks with the sable-handed knife. But I was sweating, my palms were sweating, and soon I was also bloodletting. My eyes became teary from shock. I was in a complete stage of deadlock. From my hand, blood painted my arm with red, glistening snakes, but I was all adrenaline and no aches. After a few, the blood had clotted, but my clothes were blood-spotted. Did I learn my lesson? Yessum'.