tiny words on vivid images
tiny graves for the losses
hurt is prevalent
do you get high from pain
it stings my eyes
the glass digs deeper
skin torn open
that's not the meaning
he isn't hurting
he wants to be hurt
she digs her nails into his neck
she sprinkled glitter over wounds
he wants this
he causes his own demise
when relief fills him
he's empty
he wants distress
his body high off of despair
no recovery from once broken bones
fingers ripped from thier homes
arms shredded, hearts smashed
not quite like glass
tiny, small, miniscule
things torn so delicately
you almost don't notice the chaos
you almost crave it when it leaves
treated so fragile
malfunctioning without pain
good always goes, bad is permanent
she'll always come back
until she's had enough
until she's given up
until she forgets it
then she weeps
