I cut and slash and rage at your picture. I kindle fire to do great harm in anger. My heart breaks in a thousand pieces and the blood runs red from my wrist. The scars that you can see are not as deep as the ones on the wounds that you cannot see. My heart is cut deeper than my wrist or your picture. Was I not good enough for you, was I not pretty enough. Did not love you enough. What made you turn my passionate love for you into a violent hate that wants to consume me at the same time drives me to long for you to even use me again, for being used by you is better than not being with you at all.