Poor Little Heart

Would you bloody your knuckles

For my poor little broken heart?

Bury the body, ask no questions,

And take me to bed

Like I never asked anything of you?

Would you take the pieces

Of my severed sanity

And hold them in your hands,

Helplessly and hopefully

As if you could fix everything

With a perfectly planted kiss?

Would you take my poor little heart

And press it against your own

As if it is perfect in its brokenness

And not simply a fragile fragment

Of a girl who no longer exists?

And most importantly

Would you be able to forgive me,

For all the hurt running through my veins,

And the blood running down my legs?

For all the pain I wear on my sleeve

And all the agony I scream in my sleep?