The Bruises On My Face

Once again
broken glass impales
my bleeding hands.

I am clutching
at the shattered remains
of this heart.

I don't want to remember
who I am,
or what I've done
so I pretend.

I pretend you're not
walking away.

As blood flows
from the back of my head,
trickles down my skin,
drips,
I think,
this is the way
it was always meant to be.

From the first kiss
to the last drop,
nothing's changed.