y o u r - h e a r t a c h e

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you cradle pools

of old pain

in your palms,

dripping its alive

crimson

on the white-tiled floors

of your future

when it leaks

through your fingers,

and you never let it

dry

into a rusty stain

or let it wash away

with the cleansing tide,

just always

tearing yourself apart,

bleeding yourself out

for the past

that crawls up the walls

in looming shadows,

haunting you

with black and white flashes

of memories

you'll never recreate,

and your eyes

reflect the living ghost

and the maker

of this heartache,

the girl who took your hand

and led you to desolation's door,

and i can't stop

the internal bleeding

or heal

the deep wounds

left behind

that only show

through your bloodshot eyes

and in your words

dripping with disturbing

metaphor,

i can't reach inside

and still your

thoughts

or stop the gears

of your mind

from spinning

into destruction,

but i can cup my hands

under yours

and help you

hold the pain


love,

mari

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