I like to check on you
I don't know if you notice
what I'm doing
what I'm asking
what I mean
it thrills and scares me that you might
you broke me once
but I don't want you to think of me as damaged
I don't need the sympathy
I love you and you don't feel the same
but I need to know the truth

Do you ever wonder if they care as much as they say they do?

Why can't they answer your message?

Why do they only give a few brief words?

Why does it feel like you're the only one trying?

If you have theses or similar questions
then it might be time to cut yourself free and wait.

Wait until they ask you how you are.

Wait until they answer your message.

Wait until they try to put some effort in.

If it never comes, then they don't.

Letting you go to be happy.
A worthy cause in my heart.
If only it didn't hurt so,
but I can let you go.
We can remain how we were
I can be happy this way too.
On that day,
I became a pearl
instead of a rose.

Time to fall back into the murky waters again

You did so good

Splishing along the surface

trying to keep yourself afloat

making all those luscious bubbles

but it's time to sink below

and rest.

Sharp and dangerous.
That's what you think when you hear about them.

"They'll **** you quicker than you could blink"

"You'll hear the soft ****** of charms, spurs, and then it's over"

"The gunslinger- now he's straight from hell, no one could out draw that man, no matter what gun you have"

"I've always heard you had to watch the swordsman, he's like a ghost, never know where he'll be"

Now, I knew next to nothing about them.
Everyone they visited usually ended up dead.

Hard to confirm.

Standing here and looking at them though...

These soft men, all smiles, joking, relaxed.

I don't know about the stories but they're sharp and dangerous alright, etching their mark on my heart.

They aren't known for asphyxiation, but they sure stole my breath.

I hope you suffer,
wounds deeper than
emotional scars beneath the dermal layer.

You're truely not worth the air,
you consume.
A zealot. Heretic turned holy.
An abomination hiding behind closet alcoholism.

I'd hate to be your  liver.