she holds my hand in her palm
cradling it gently
as she cleans
the wounds she reopened
again
on my calloused paper skin.
The giver birth
and
the harbinger of my death,
embraces me in crocodile tears.
"Who is she?" I am asked
and in a cracked voice bandaged with promises,
I answer;
"she is my mother."

I felt inspired to write this since there are many songs and poems written about heartbreak.
Many people who have been through what I've been through.

The soul crushing heartbreak.
Leaving your heart shattered into a million pieces.
With the hope that one day reunite seems like a distant dream.
One that you go in and out of subconsciously.

It's been years but the scabs are still existent.
Lately I can't help but pick at them.
Leaving me with ****** and deeper scars.

You don't just move on from someone you loved for years.
Neither do you replace them with a rebound.
It isn't that simple.

Although I believe you can move forward with your life.

Few of us have a happily ever after.

I hope my story changes for the better.

I just want to be dead
To go to sleep
And never leave this bed
The hidden wounds go so deep
How can I let them close
When they are frequently reopened
Everyday something happens to  re-expose
They will never be unopened
I just want to go to sleep
And never leave this bed

Written by
Michael Matthews

When I start to regret the past
I have to ask
what does that piece of me mean
is it something best forgot
or a lesson
that turns my dark to green
It might make my dust into stars.

I should not waste my scars.

i am who i am
and that will never change
i am the same as i was a year ago
when the roses start to fade

i guess i'm not enough
to make tears run down your face
i still wonder if you care
if you even know my name

i don't understand
why we cannot co-exist
i never wanted to hurt you
with my poisonious lips

how deep are your scars
for us to make it this far?
there's a hundred million friendships
but all i wanted was ours

when you grow up
five, four years from now
seven, six months older
no need to wonder; never suffer

splitting head; broken bones
one more crush, three more crunch
stolen fingers; freshly sliced flesh
three wounds to bleed, more cuts to heal

I could swear I’ve felt your touch once,
I wonder why you couldn’t
bare seeing my raw wounds?

You know,
it is never gentle to disturb
the dead with the promise of love
So why did you do it, darling?