I’ve been weak and bleeding so much venom lately;
I wonder how many letters and pictures I have ripped in the past week,
So I don’t rip myself instead.
I have been trying to catch the knives that has been trying to stab me,
I guess I just thought yours was the plastic butter knife I didn’t need to defend myself from,
But no, yours was the bloody, butcher knife that I needed the most salvage from.
Now, my heart is in my eyes, and the tears I weep are blood as the stab wound I tried so hard to close, opened up again.
And last night, I went back to the wishing well from the MET,
where I wished for time to reverse to when things were sane;
back to when I could feel the rough edges of your chewed off fingernails and the curves of your lips,
back to when I received a sunburn every time you smiled and a hurricane every time you cried,
and stole my penny back.