It takes processing.
Every slice,
every tear,
one pint after the next.

Waiting for pain,
once again,
the cycle isn't bound to end.

Under control,
the edge in hand,
a round of jagged scars all around.

On the house,
a bout of pain,
a pitcher of grief,
can't get enough of this misery.

Your lips made of broken glass

Leave me bleeding

As I try to utter the hushed words

'I love you'

and then I asked you,
"What's your biggest fear?"

you gave me a quivering sigh,
looked at me straight in the eyes
and said,

"It's that eventually, you will see me
the way I see myself."