While i'm thinkin of you,
and where you used to be,
questions go through the mind,
why didn't I see?
Why am I alone?
what brought me here?
Are you still alive?
Do you even care?
Look at my arms,
drenched in one's blood,
can you see what you do to me?
of course, clear as mud.
Obviously you can't see,
Obviously you don't care,
I doubt if you did,
you'd ever be here.
The blood travels down,
leaving trails of crimson red,
past my fingernails,
onto my bed.
From my weeping, broken skin,
this was my only conclusion,
the only way to release,
the pain from within. |
