Bruises on my wrist are like,

Mini memories of you playing like movies in my brain,

Nervous feelings in bowls of soup,

The letters never spelled anything until just now.


In a sick way I am going to thank you,

For teaching me what it was to hate yourself,

And now I drive so far away,

I want you to leave me behind whatever you do.

Mental detachments from emotions make them…

Easier to swallow,

They make it easier to not feel the pain,

From banging my wrists on the door frames.


I should hate you for what you do to me,

But I still love you,

Tomorrow I go back to where we first met,

Instead of the happiness I was hoping for…

All I feel is sick and twisted regret.


Something in my mind tells me I shouldn't bother,

Friends tell me you don't deserve me,

I don't understand,

All you did was love me (break me).

Love is not a whispered prayer,

It is an angel with black and broken wings,

Crushed when it fell from heaven.


You should have let me fix your wings.