Painted hearts and pretty wrists,

Tears forming rivers on the contours of your face.

Deathly smiles and hollow whispers,

You’re barely here anymore.

Souls smirk at your misfortune,

Open wounds pouring your heart into their hands.

Naivety was never the answer,

Yet you hid beneath it like a second skin.

He’s falling apart at the seams,

And your just another patch work quilt.

You’re stitching yourselves back together haphazardly,

Until you don’t know which pieces belongs to him and which to you.

Here you lay fragile in his arms,

Patterns bloodied and bruised into your skin.

Shiver down your spine and through his broken sight,

You’re driving him blind and you couldn’t care less.