Your broken parts are jagged, —
I cut myself when I was trying to gather them
And match them to mine.
Over and over, I bled bright scarlet onto your shattered China,
Until I created something halfway decent
And stopped to admire what I'd done.
I found a way to make it all fit
As if the Almighty had put us together like puzzles, —
I could have lied
Proudly stated how nicely
My sorrows played with yours.
But, my dearest,
That isn't the way
The man pulling the strings
Wanted this to work.
Our hearts never make the same clean breaks as our bones, —
We were built to spill our vulnerability for all to see
Hearts made ultra-sensitive
So that we'd always be sure to feel the pain.
Love's a bleeding thing, you see, —
We're all too likely to bite the hand that caresses us
Take a blade to the back we promised to stay behind
Highlight the worst words to come from the same mouths that we've kissed
As long as we get to see that same result.
Passion is not a selfless creature, —
It's an untamed beast
Taking delight in the heady lust of treachery
Finding romance in the primal notion:
If I bleed
You will, too.
Love is not for those without will
Or those who can not part
With certain parts of themselves
That will certainly be drained
By the vampire of devotion.
Love is for the well-meaning naïve
Much like myself
But, be warned,
Even those who wait on the suffering hand and foot
Are not selfless
Nor innocent.
Affection can be just as carnal a need
As a lust for blood.
It is a hunger
That might someday destroy me.
Until then
Here I will stay
Jagged bits of porcelain heart in my hands
Until I lick my own lifeblood from my skin
Blindly hoping that, this time,
The thirst might be sated.
