I don't know exactly how to deal with what's happened
You were there, breathing, shaking
But I don't remember thinking anything was different
You reached out for my hand and I was reading a textbook about how to help people with mental illness
I held my breath for 368 days
But the thing is all I see is red
It clings to my bed sheets, it clings to the rug
It holds on to the bathroom floor
It remains on the closet door in a hand print
Footprints across the hallway floor
Why can't I see your face instead of the blood?
Why can't I see you smiling?
Why can't I remember that far back?
The thing is it's my job to recognize brokenness
Not only recognize but mend it
I'm the sewing needle for the torn up heart
But why didn't I bring the kit?
Why didn't I have the right colour thread?