I say my heart is scattered on the floor,
and you say "I'm overdramatic".
You say that, but you don't see my arms hidden behind my back.
They're full of cuts, blood escaping the embrace of my body,
being spilled on the floor,
like cheap milk that got bad.
The very same blood, that was once running through my veins and my heart keeping me alive ,
has now left me.
It is creating small lakes of blood right next to my bed.
This is a ****** scene and i'm both the victim and the killer.
Well now if you think, if you really think about it,
my heart has-in a way- touched the floor.