I held it
That cactus of a beating heart
And I thought it was an honor
Thought the cuts in my palms meant something
Marked me as worthy
And the blood running down my wrists to my elbows
Sealed this bond like blood-brothers.
The tears shed when the needles dug deep
Meant I was chosen
I was special because no matter how much it hurt,
I could still hold on.
Reliable, dedicated, adoring, lasting
Loving.
And when others wanted their turn,
I'd surrender over my treasure
Sometimes ginger, sometimes impatiently forceful,
They would take their turn with you.
But they weren't interested in pricking their fingers,
Or shedding tears over you,
So you'd come back.
And in my slashed, stabbed, scarred hands
With needles still stuck in my skin,
I would cradle you.
Pull you up to my chest and breathe in hope,
Only to sink your spines in deeper
Anchored to me.

I thought the pain was worth it
Thought no one could hold you like I could
Told you I'd wait for you to shed those ****** and spines
Wait for my hands, my chest, to be enough.

But you, cowardly heart that you are,
Will never shed those spikes for me,
Trade protection for vulnerability,
For love.
Nor will you stop from wrenching yourself from my fingertips,
Give up the thrill of a new conquest,
The satisfaction of new blood drawn.

And if it's true,
If it was all a lie,
A ruse to buy you more time, more blood,
And if my hands are not feeding me insecurities again,
Then maybe it's time I put you down
And wash my hands.