try to unsee the horrors you've dealt me, the crosses burnt into my thighs.
then ask yourself...
did you ever really care?

Thank you.
Thank you for leaving me when I needed you most.
Thank you for being disinterested in my scars.
Thank you for dropping me when all I needed was to breathe.
Thank you for letting me drown in her patronization and sitting aside.
Thank you.

What makes a good plot?
Is it the driving forces of a whirlwinded love, a mad minded passion, and a heedless fear?
Or is it the calm rolling thoughts that peep into your window every night begging for an audience that whisper to the genteel with the silence of a weeping willow?
You decide.
Reality?
Or empty-minded desire?

I hope you know it's your fault.
I know you don't give a ****
because when I fell you pushed me down
and then proceeded to stand.

saying you love me and then beating me

I am not an artist but art,
and from the world-- set apart;
in life and love, the push and shove
wreaks havoc on my painted heart.