Blood

It’s hard for me to be grateful,
When I’ve lost so very much.
I find that I’m often spiteful,
But grief cannot be rushed.

It’s tough.

I’ve fucking had enough.

This feeling is leaden,
It pulls me down,
And it’s weighted.

It swallows me whole,
In toothed jaws,
Never satiated.

It feels like it’s fated.

The silence,
I choke on it,
Deflated.

I want to be defiant,
But I’m imprisoned,
And the warden’s a tyrant,
Always livid.

Why do I have to fix,
That which I did not break?
They say I’m resilient,
But all you’ve done is take.
Guess that’s the price paid,
For having a brain that’s heart shaped.
If you’re the self-proclaimed hero,
Then where the fuck is your cape?

You left me alone,
So I made my own escape.
I put my heart back together,
The edges sewn and taped.

Don’t blame me,
For how I fix,
What you continue to break.

I’ll be shocked,
If you so much as ache.
But it’s easy,
For you to hold a blade.

God,
You can’t even cut straight.

You used my blood,
As if it were finger-paint.
You blamed me for bleeding,
While you drilled the stake.

I’m all that remains,
Of those detangled veins.
Leave me to gather cinders,
Charred ash to your flame.

You took me,
With the intent to lacerate.
And though you did try,

I will not break.