a year full of life

you made a potion out of me

you picked me apart piece by piece,
every bit as sure as you were before
[as time went by]
you made a potion out of me:
a bit of carefully clipped vine
[you harvested my veins]
a bunch of fine feathers,
pulled from their stem
[you plucked my lashes one by one]
the water of a far away lake
[you drained my body of any tears]
until there was nothing left of me
and i was just a shell of myself,
left for disposal.

i used to dream that the flowers
sprouting from my veins
meant finding a love
to help tend my garden,
but as it turns out
they were just for your destruction -
so if i bleed
you'll be the last to know
[i'd hate for you to use
my last bit of vulnerability
as a way to hurt me even more]