I think we're both the victim,
and maybe no one's really the perpetrator.

Because I've seen the flecks of red and blue,
in the eyes of angry people.
I've seen the detail.

And I know,
trust me I know-
reasons don't always justify,

And I know, and I hate
that he damaged you-

and because of him you took my hand
and held it against a hill of red ants,

and you told me my guts were worth hating.

that stung almost worse than the bites.

But I've seen the holes in the faces of people,
and gaps in the irises of people
screaming at me.

And I really think that,
we take pieces from other people,
to fix our own damaged bodies.

And even if we gave pieces,
would it matter because
we'd all be
equally damaged,
still.

But I'm giving you this piece because,

Despite my swollen hands,
I can see how he damaged you,

and I see that everyone's the victim, and there will never be enough bandages.

So instead let me be the piece,
to keep your mind off of it,

for a while.