"My boy" you told me
"Some will come close to understanding"
But none truly ever will
The pain is a burden
Hurled into being
By a history in which we have no sway
Of elders and ancestors,
common trace
Buried deep in our blood
And The wounds
In an indifferent bandage
You WILL understand in time
That you must be your own shaman
Whisper to your soul the song
That soothes,
The healing touch,
SING OUT
The sorrow that aches,
And make harmony with what you know to be true
And for those that dont understand...
Be patient,
Their wounds not as deep
Their affliction still undetected,
Show them in the light of your broken halo
That good exists within the hollow home of unsettling night,
Only than will you truly understand,
"My boy" you said
None understand, but i do

You picked at her.
At first, you only did small pieces,
just took inconsequential pinches off here and there.
However, soon you became greedy.
Got comfortable stripping her of who she was.
Turning her inside out.
You ignored the empty gaps in her heart,
and tried to bandage the larger chunks
with who you wanted her to be.
But learned, like everyone eventually does,
that bandages don't always solve the problem.
Sometimes we bleed too much.
And sometime we keep bleeding until we can't.
That's what you did to her.
You picked at her
until there was nothing left to pick at.

When my finger met the paper, in a brief love affair, it took my blood as a trophy.
Then the red droplets created a beautiful mess as they sank into the dead white wood.
It stung badly, and it continued to hurt as I went on a mission to find a bandage that
could keep the crimson art inside of me, instead of spilling it everywhere.
When I wiped the excess blood away I saw nothing, yet I was still in pain.
But what hurts the most right now is my heart, because just like I couldn’t
see the papercut, you can’t see my broken heart either, and it is bleeding heavily.
Because of you.
And I can’t seem to find a bandage big enough to heal the
hole you left in my dying heart.