Thoughts That Draw Blood
Posted By: Random 14-Year-Old<i-rule-2008@comcast.net>
Date: 3 March 2006, 7:23 am
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Thoughts That Draw Blood
She was gone...
I'm holding something. Something sharp.
It cuts my palm. It cuts my palm.
I stagger in pain, and I know what to do.
But not how to do it.
Could it be my dignity?
I had held her, loved her, saved her.
But it wasn't enough, she still suffered.
Her suffering is my defeat, my failure.
It cuts my palm. It cuts my palm.
I must let my pride go, or it will kill me.
Could it be my life?
Blood ripples across my body.
Not in my veins, but on my skin.
I can't cry, for the love of God,
Or the tears will burn my wounds.
Death is so welcome. So welcome.
But this life, it lingers and won't go away.
It cuts my palm. It cuts my palm.
I must let my life go, or it will kill me.
Could it be my—
Could it be her?
I realize it now.
For every time she falls,
For every time she cries,
For every time she needs me,
I am there to null the pain.
But this time I am not.
I can't be there when she falls.
Or when she cries.
Or needs me so badly it rips her heart open.
I can't be there for her—
I can't be there for her—
I realize it now.
Her pain is my pain.
She cuts my palm. She cuts my palm.
I must let her go, or she will kill me.
I'm not sure what I'm holding.
But I know it's sharp.
It cuts my palm. It cuts my palm.
I stagger in pain, and I know what to do.
And I know how to do it.
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