Not even poetic imagery can begin to describe my misery.
Suffering and pain not yet physical, but only because the blade I hold in my hand is too dull.
Now pressed hard against my skin, trying to let out the sorrows trapped within.
But this time I press too deep I've gone to far. I've done something more than just leave a scar.
And as I lay there fading in and out, you are still all I can think about.
Back to when we were together like it used to be, a time before all I could think of was "how could you do this to me?".