You
With your words
The Knife.
You.
Me
Knowing and not knowing,
Afraid and clueless.
Me.
Us
A thing that used to be,
The dust on the mantle.
Us.
We
Will never be the same
The blood that was spilled across the floor.
We.
This crime scene filled with pain and sorrow and regret. The murderer and the victim one in the same—but also separate. Two hearts that both dance to the same miserable song.
I don't know why this poem is so popular... I've done better...