When I met her she was covered in scars,
How could I know how deeply she’d been cut?
I’d try to empty my own reservoirs,
To heal the wounds that she had sealed shut.

I still believe none could have given more,
But sometimes it’s not how much care but how.
And when I failed it cut me to the core.
I feel my faith in love is weaker now.

For even if I loved her perfectly,
She was beyond ability to fix.
Her safety an impossibility,
She nailed herself to every crucifix.

You’ll be the one who’s broken if you stay.
You’ll never love her brokenness away.