My heart break, with every smile you give her.
My stomach knots, every time you say her name.
My cuts deepen, with every thought I have of you and her.
Why must I hurt?
For the thought of her?
Why must I bleed?
When I know my feelings are unjust.
These marks, these cuts, a continual reminder of hurt.
These scissors, an object of potential.
How much hurt can I cause.
How much blood can fall from this broken girl?
