I'd rather you use bombs and knives,
I'd rather you use guns and swords.
I'd rather that we would have fights;
that you'd leave me with open sores.
I'd rather you find a different weapon,
a different tool to use on me.
I wish you'd make me feel a pain;
I wish you'd leave me weak and ******.
Yet the sharpest tool is what you use;
you leave me dead inside.
I wish you'd tear my heart out;
I wish I would have died.
You open your mouth and the weapons spill out,
you're armed with words that you scream and shout.
The pain is unbearable, the torture indescribable.
I know there's no point in putting up a struggle.
You **** me, one by one,
your words an open ****.
They slice me up in pieces,
making me feel like trash.
All I can be is silent;
I know that is the best.
I try to block them out,
but they're already in my chest.
Your words are killing me;
a slow, antagonizing death.
Each word you say cuts me,
each wound raw and fresh.
I wish you'd let me be,
I wish you'd leave it unsaid.
I guess you just can't see
you can't bring someone back from the dead.
...
