Her day was bad. Terrible, horrible
Rebuked by her parents. Disowned, orphaned
Separated from love. Banished, forbidden
So she turns to the razor.
300 miles away I stagger. Terrified, horrified
And watch the blood spread. Gutted, torn asunder
My body is fine. Complete, unmarred
But my soul is wounded. Dismembered, destroyed
So I grab for the pieces.
They slide through my hands. Slipping, falling
To shatter on the floor. Inescapable, irretrievable
I kneel before them. Desperate, frantic
Gathering my dying heart.
She doesn't know. She can't, how could she?
I didn't know either. Shocked, appalled
Her arm, my soul. They match, they mingle
When she cuts, I bleed longer.
The cutting was just a figure of speech, but I can see how that would...hurt you. I'm sorry. I was just kinda pissed on Thursday, and I chose to show that. But hey, I have to ask...if your blood flows when I cut, then does your heart soar as high as mine does when I think of you?