Together, they were like that wiry hair with
A split end she would obsessively try
To peel apart,
Not sure if more harm would be done,
With or without it in her heart.
She knew she could cut it off
and be done with it in a go,
Yet she picked at it,
Deriving strange painful pleasures in tearing
Each other away,
Till he would fall into the abyss of oblivion,
And her, weakened, distorted,
A lone strand would remain,
Never would she be the same again.