Poetry

Poison.

I've had my heart ripped out a million different ways. I've ripped my own heart out. I've ripped people's hearts out. Like a injured soldier I feel. Like a dead man I breathe. Like a warrior I live. And like a poison I kill. Butterflies are made in cycles and so is the person you are today. Butterflies are beautiful and so are you. But no one said that beauty can save you. Squish you like a bug. Blood pouring out feels painful. Which is worse, the bloody mess or the pain in your heart? Maybe they're the same. At least when you get injured you know when the pain stops, and I seven months later still choke on every word you ever said, and cry at every memory. You put your poison in me and made me a disease, "but honey I loved you and you killed me." Maybe if I put a warning label on me people would stay away from the creation you made today. Wanna taste? I bet it tastes like heartbreak.