Scarcity of phrase,

Once regarded in adoration,

Takes another phase,

Undergoing a transformation.

And hence,

Negligence.

This wound

I keep tonguing,

To keep from healing,

Refuses to fade

Because of my endless efforts.

But why would I do such a thing?

You make my stomach churn.

And not in a good way.

When you pry me open with your yearning eyes,

Your yearning eyes that burn through my flesh,

That tear away violently at everything that is me,

And leave me a hollow shell of being,

Separate from all you believe me to be.

Left to feel the blame, and lifeless.

Guilt to wash over me

Like crashing black waves.

I wish not to possess your heart,

I shove it away.

I am not the girl you think I am.

I am not the girl you think I am.

I’m belly-side up,

Vulnerable.

Naked, without guard.

And I hand you the blade,

To carve out my heart.

On the factory line,

I am a product of society.

Manufactured by design,

Structured by a nation of notoriety.

Your love is endless,

And renders me senseless,

Leaving me breathless,

Destroys my defenses,

Expelling pretenses.

The ladder,

The one I’m forced to climb.

A lack of friction, I seem to find,

As I take the rung into my fingers.

And the vertigo sensation lingers.

I know my lesson,

Why should I persist?

Brace my feet, step up, and

Slip.

The question:

Should I give up

And fall regardless?

Or continue

And say I tried this?

With this knowledge, then,

What good is

The latter?