If I remember anything it's the hurt.
Not the single desperate cry for help.
Not the single tear that slid down my red cheeks and onto my blue lips.
Not the single word I heard roll off your tongue as you hoped I wouldn't speak of this night you took me in your arms.
It's the hurt,
it's the agony in which I had to live with since you have gone.
My tears wash down the drain as I stare at what you caused.
Every melody you let run through your veins took me with each broken piece of mind.
And now all I can hear is the single melody you let shift to me as you left me behind.
But if I could even remember that night, I swear the surface would overflow with blood and bones, as if I could somehow have avoided my cry for help.
Though we all know,
it's always the victims fault.
