Thursday, March 31, 2016

Bull S(hi)t

for the Reeds

We couldn't make you care
even though we ripped down a curtain made of children's bones
even though we broke open our souls like pomegranates
even though we wept tears on the roots of dying oaks
even though we walk this path on broken knees
even though we know every word on the pages of this heartbreak
even though we let you drink from our jugular veins

You ran away
Lips bloodstained and indifferent
and trampled roses along the way
singing, "They know nothing,
And this isn't blood on my mouth."

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