I was never yours,
And you were never mine.
Why, then, does it feel
Like I’ve lost something wonderful?
From every angle of this pentagram
We never intersected,
But I could swear to any god
I knew you, I felt you, I breathed you.
I carve scars into my flesh
And then cry tears into them,
Making little rivers to gaze upon
And capture my reflection,
Because I have none to cleanse myself in
To sweep me away in their currents,
Or erode the dirt from my skin;
But these rivers are filled with blood
And flood over from this deluge
I pour into them.
In the end, I am horrid and wounded,
Just the way, I think, you always saw me,
Never looking past the flesh
To see any strength within
Or any redemption behind my ghastly face.
So I make these rivers to overflow
Until, one day, they drown me,
And maybe erode the dirt at the surface
To bare what’s left of my soul beneath.