the truth hurts. when the cut is deep

The truth hurts when you stab me. Dig it in with a twist and a shout.

I have gotten awefully good at letting it all out. But not you.Unless it is a push and a shove.

A stream of blood that you pump in porcelian.Streak across metal.

Wash it off with a hose and a smile as you listen to your fucking ipod.

I escaped some where into my cerebelum.

Before you began your game of touch and go.

It is really simple. This mind fuck you give me good.

In fact dear. I do even better to give your existence a simple push out the door.

To look empty,because just a slight grimace and you know.

You know you matter to me.

And I can’t let you know that you see.

Why must you make me want to hate you?

Why cant a slight nod toward love linger while you cut me open?

But it can’t and as you sow me up again and lick my wounds, I think of other people any one but you.

It is my way of getting by. My way of pretending you are not out their some where.

You never made your move when I wanted you too.

You never let me know and I pretended I didnt care.

So much easier. To just pretend to never care.

Because when I smile at you. When I cry. When I open my mouth like I want to scream or cry.

You find it amusing as you twitch the knife just slightly above me before you plunge it in.

Oh dear God.

Just. Stop.