Mother, I cannot mind my wheel;
My fingers ache, my lips are dry:
Oh! if you felt the pain I feel!
But oh, who ever felt as I?

No longer could I doubt him true;
All other men may use deceit:
He always said my eyes were blue,
And often swore my lips were sweet.

i push people
away.
but the few friends i try
holding on to
tend to slip
away
from my grasp.
the sensation still
r u n n i n g
through my fingertips.

people like you
leave paper cuts.