I guess blood stains,
and if you peel off your fingers it's hard to write with them anymore.
If you cut out your thighs it's hard to walk on them anymore.
If you slice up your hips it's hard to rotate them anymore.
The lightning keeps hitting,
blowing craters into my chest,
and some nights I hollow my heart out and let its remains soak into my sheets.
Those are the nights that I cry and think of you,
I think of you to fall asleep
because you are the only thing that has not broken my heart yet.


Oops.