I'd like to say I stopped
thinking about you
but the sad thing is
that it's not the truth
You pierced my heart
with your sharp tongue
and let my blood spill
onto the pages;
bleeding out every word
I never said to you,
with tired eyes and
hands painted crimson
I handed you a piece of me, and you
stamped it into the dirt
the blood spattering
onto the asphalt
as your bitter words
flew across the air
like a slap to the face
