I have a broken mirror
in my pocket
I carry it with me
wherever I go
(the shards cut through my jeans, stab my thigh
dyeing my pants red)
I have tried to take it
out, pick
the pieces
out of there
(it's easier to just leave it.)
I end up with only ******
fingertips, I smear my
blood on the rugs
I sleep on,
the bed is too soft, too warm
to sleep in
I'm not used to kindness
or- - - - - even
liking someone
so I become
scared, that things won't
work out
and when you try to pick these
shards out of my leg,
(turning your beautiful
fingers red&raw;)
when you try helplessly
to erase my pain
I will lay on this blood-
stained
rug and think
Why are you doing
this
for me
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 7:45 PM UTC
I have a broken mirror
in my pocket
I carry it with me
wherever I go
(the shards cut through my jeans, stab my thigh
dyeing my pants red)
I have tried to take it
out, pick
the pieces
out of there
(it's easier to just leave it.)
I end up with only ******
fingertips, I smear my
blood on the rugs
I sleep on,
the bed is too soft, too warm
to sleep in
I'm not used to kindness
or- - - - - even
liking someone
so I become
scared, that things won't
work out
and when you try to pick these
shards out of my leg,
(turning your beautiful
fingers red&raw;)
when you try helplessly
to erase my pain
I will lay on this blood-
stained
rug and think
Why are you doing
this
for me
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