Let's play a game,
it's called the Blame Game.
I'll pass the blame to you,
I'll pass it back to me.
I'm a puppet on your string,
I dance as you twirl your fingers.
You move pieces on the checkerboard
with your mind.
There's no need to come in contact anymore,
you've already done the damage.
You do nothing but sit back and watch
as I tear myself apart.
I now do it all for you.
Your work here is done.
Now watch as I fight with myself,
in the place where you once were.
Watch as I still cry, even though,
you’re not here to hurt me anymore.
Watch as I try to repair,
severe damage that you've done
to my body,
as I pick the splinters out of my heart
one by one,
that you've so elaborately placed.
And if I'm asked to,
for some reason,
I'll still put my heart on the line for you,
though you are unworthy of my loyalty,
just as you somehow deemed me unworthy
of your love.
And how?
How did you think it appropriate
to trade out your family
for such a relationship?
But I guess it's my fault, huh?
For not making my feelings clear?
Even though I tried so hard to be heard?
What else did you need?
Should I have screamed?
It couldn't get much clearer than that,
than my pain-filled shrieks
in your bleeding ears,
directly in front of your eyes,
oh so glazed over by “love”.
And yet I sometimes blame myself
even though I know
that if I was crying tears of blood,
you would have still turned the other cheek.
You've broken me so much,
I've lost sight of normalcy.
I can't find
the true definition of family anymore.
Let's play the Blame Game.
It only takes one person
as long as they are shattered enough.