I'm writing because I haven't
I'm writing because today I looked at the poems
I have written in the last year
and they are all written in blood.
"I do not love you" is what I whisper
whenever I see him around
because I don't, I can't, I will not
not when he is here and can see my wounds.
What did I love in you?
What was it that moved me to give myself
freely and openly
after being locked away for my entire life?
My heart hurts when I think of her
of the one who will eventually fall for you
you will give her sweet words
that spread sugar over her lips
but when she licks them she'll swallow the poison
and she'll be gone