the words you would scream at me were sharp like knives.
they cut into my palms and inside my hands held pride that i no longer have
because
of
you.
it seeped onto the wooden floor beneath me and was dripping off of my thighs that were patterned and blue
because
of you
and
your words.
your words forced a placebo of love into me.
when actually
we had nothing but
a schrödingerean love;
a love destined to break.
not only did our love break,
so did i.
