I stand alone.
A ******* the side of a ***** road.
A pretty face.
An ugly smile.
People pick up the pace
When they walk by.
They don’t like seeing
The knife in my back.
It unsettles them.
As it should.
Children stare, their parents whisper,
“This is what happens when you let love ****.”
Then they walk past.
Pools of blood lay on the ground at my feet.
The wound is a waterfall,
A continuous spray,
Of regret.
Of better judgement.
Of self worth.
Flowing down my back in riotous shades of red.
Flowing out of my body and burning in the sun.
You didn’t break my heart.
You fixed it.
With your beautiful hands
And warm lips.
And you’ll come back for me.
Because it is yours.
And I’ll wait for you.
Until I’m a husk.
And then my smile won’t be ugly.
Because you will come back.
You will ease my pain with your touch.
You will heal the wound.
You will take back your knife.
And I will be yours.
Until you plunge it into my back again.
And even then, I won’t try to save myself.