I am rinsing the pain away slowly. In etches of red swirls the blood trails are sweeping down gray rock and away from me. Away from my heart.
The price of losing love is the price of loving in the first place.
I pick up my shattered heart alone now. And the sharp glass cuts my cold hands. But maybe- maybe I will not be alone here forever. Maybe someday, someone will reach out to me and pull me out of this overwhelming tide of tears that has been drowning me, drowning me here for years.
"These precious things, let them bleed, let them wash away." -Tori Amos
written on 2003-03-31 at 1:07 p.m.
she / lost