I promise I usually write much better than this

I envy how easily it rolls off their tongues.

Like any other word would.

As if it doesn’t take a part of them with it.

To whomever they say it to.

As if they have nothing to lose.

I’ve given pieces of myself to everyone I felt it for

And those chasms remain.

I wish they wouldn’t say it to me 

Perchance, I believe they truly mean it. 

 Perchance I allow them to.

Perchance, I allow their love to engulf me 

To surround me.

To heal me?

Perhaps they can mend the broken pieces of my heart back together

To pump bl**d back into my l*feless heart

To give me a reason.

To fill the hollow shell that is my frame with something.

Anything

To fill the emptiness.

…

But if they knew they would not.

If they knew, they would recoil

They do not know I carry so much

For if they did, they would pity me.

Shake their heads in disappointment

And scrunch their eyebrows in shame.

As the rest of the crowd would do.

Never to see, always to judge.

Never to listen, always to assume.

And so Is the cycle.

Never to be changed because no one wants to face

The discomfort it brings.