If only you had given me a flesh wound.
Something easier to heal.

If only you had stabbed me a few times in the gut,
One to the leg, one to the arm,
Left me with a couple bruises,
I could have dealt with that harm.
You ****** me up right,
Not only ****** my mind but
Taking your dagger and dragging it up my spine.
You saw me in the garden, growing about my days and you
Ripped me out of the ground in nothing but your spiteful haze.
I wish I had something, to offer to anyone I meet,
But I feel ****** dry,
Can’t even balance using my own two feet.
If I could leave an automatic message to those who come my way,
It would be *“she no longer lives here, go about your day”