Because of me you have been knocked to the dirt.
And where am I?
Well the self guilt has placed me beneath you;
covered in the **** and mud that still seems to hold you up.

Every tear and every cry of pain from that lovely face,
Is just another twisting stab to the heart with a dull blade.
Every comment and every reminder to what I speak,
Is more soil beneath your feet, dirt that grips my throat as I try to breathe.

I am already down; so please, please don’t send me further.
Each word: a new blow, new bruise upon the mind as I sink deep,
So place a noose around my neck to keep from loosing me.
I can’t slip through the fingers like the mud between your fists.

I’d rather give my last breathe to your saving grasp,
Than to the handfuls of dirt shoved behind each thought.
Either way I’m suffocating in time for one last word;
Sorry…