The wrists are for the dependent
The weak and the vain
A cry for help without any shame

The ankles are for the confused
With uneven bone and mind
They are the unsure
Who are left behind

The thighs are for the angry
The abandoned and alone
Those who mark there
Have no home

The stomach is for the numb
Who feel no pain
So they slash deeply
Searching for a vein

The hips are for the enigma
The girl that feels all
Silent and withdrawn
She is not afraid
To fall.

He loved her
In a silent, whisper filled
Sort of way
With cold cups of coffee
And early mornings
Or muted radio music
But
He loved her
In a bold, rash
Sort of way
With glasses of deep red wine
And late nights
Or passionate kisses
He loved her
Sporadically, excitedly, quietly

He wore his heart
Upon his sleeve
She wore the scars
Of many years eve
He was searching
She was lost
But love like that
Comes at a cost.