to think it
was love
was terribly foolish
to think it was love
was exhausting
to think it was anything more than a game
a game
only made for one
and I wasn’t made to be a player
to think
to actually think
I was more than a body
more than a body
that you took
for yourself
you took things
that never belonged to you
that were never open to you
you took them in your hands
like I took a razor in mine
sitting in the tub
tears
hitting the wounds
on my wrists
head hanging
between my legs
listening to the
slow
bang
of my heart
against my ribs
trying to
catch my breath
trying to
stop the blood
trying to
fight for my life
and yet
you were the one hurting
bleeding out
taking your last breath
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 11:15 PM UTC
to think it
was love
was terribly foolish
to think it was love
was exhausting
to think it was anything more than a game
a game
only made for one
and I wasn’t made to be a player
to think
to actually think
I was more than a body
more than a body
that you took
for yourself
you took things
that never belonged to you
that were never open to you
you took them in your hands
like I took a razor in mine
sitting in the tub
tears
hitting the wounds
on my wrists
head hanging
between my legs
listening to the
slow
bang
of my heart
against my ribs
trying to
catch my breath
trying to
stop the blood
trying to
fight for my life
and yet
you were the one hurting
bleeding out
taking your last breath
part two of a six part series of letter I wrote to all of the men who broke my heart and took a piece of it with them
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