"The Cycle"

"The Cycle"

You don't know how it feels

To be stabbed the second time,

the third time, the fourth time...

You won't feel anything again.

You would only learn the habit 

Of seeing yourself flow out of you in red fluids like a broken pipe.

You despise the morning for bringing the thought of living

You wish for the nights for it bears the alluring face of death. 

"I am a fool again," you exclaim,

"To give you my broken pieces."

"I thought you are a heart

smith.

But you still cut my debris again."

"To live, is to hurt or be hurt."

"Either ways someone bleeds."

You swore to yourself the umpteenth time

To be in the league of the former.

But your tender brokenness

Gives you away again

You walk back that same way 

You had your first cut

And then many others and this.