you cut yourself and bled into my hands
i applied the pressure
i dressed your lesions
you picked at the scabs
you let your wounds fester
and blamed me
for your disease
i'm throwing out the disinfectant
and watching the red slip down the drain
washing my hands of you
because there's nothing i can do
— "the worst part about bad people is that you can do nothing to make them better."
YOU ARE READING
musings of a flighty teenager
Poetrya bunch of poetry about feelings and unjust situations
