What I Never Said

Father

You ran for the hills when I needed you. Every. Time. Like clockwork you'd disappear leaving me disappointed, again. You would tell me you loved me, I only heard the past tense I stayed of the present. I wondered if your love was as temporary as my smile, because my pain was a permanent as the cuts along my wrist that almost killed me. But you wouldn't know that, you weren't around to see the blood and the fear. You weren't around to hear my mother's screams as I slip away in the hospital bed. I kissed death's sugar coated lips that night, and I wanted more. Perhaps I longed for one more kiss because my father never cared enough to love me like my razor blade does.