The wound

You pick and poke and care not where your sword lands

Accuse me of not being enough, not praising enough, not doing what you thought I should

But if being walked on is your idea of loving me then I sure as hell would rather take the "heartbreak"

Love

Just a four lettered hollow word you use to patch up my "flaws"

To make me think you truly care for me, think I'm beautiful, or strong

When you walked away I felt the final sting of heartbreak

You turned your back on me, on us, and everything we created

You leave holes too large for anything to fill and I fear I'll consist of nothing but fading aspirations if I chase after you

So I ache, and wait, for the next to come along and pray he doesn't do the same.