March 13, 2011
His hands...were like fire.
The marks across her face like the burn.
She hadn't so much as uttered a single word
And yet felt the sounds of an impenetrable scream.
Deep inside her
There was a storm,
But her little boat kept upright
Every time he said...
Those three little words
That made her feel so little.
Those three little words...that can't be heard.
The plead for a second, a third
Chance at redemption because
"I'm sorry" will always cut it.
Even when his knuckles bleed ashes
And she's gone,
Even when she's scarred for life
By the burns of his
Boxing her into this box of a world,
A box of emotions where she's boxed by the breaking beats of his
Broken song.
His hands...were a lie.
An attempted denial at the truth
That nobody loved him so he
Showed nobody his love
And for that he loves with the back of his hand.
And he hates himself for what he was,
What he does,
Why he won't stop he doesn't know
But it's not.
Not fair.
Not to anyone and she
Never thought that she could be,
But she is.
She's done.
She's had enough
And the high road is so much harder to take
When she's only tasted the dirt on the ground
But she isn't him.
And she isn't his.
Her anger, red hot,
Like a blazing inferno.
She's finished.
She's done.
And this time she won't come back.
She's moving on, and this time...
She's moving on for good.

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