Shot
Shot through the heart
And you're to blame.
You give love a bad name...
Last night I was mercilessly shot through the heart. With a silver bullet as a pre-caution.
I cried fast, violent, bitter tears on the front steps of the youth project. People walked by and watched and I continued to cry. I just didn't care. Jon came up and lifted me off the steps but I could barely stand because I cried so hard, my tears so violent that they racked my entire body. I cried into his arms as people continued to walk by. I cried in his car. Tears fell at Mollyz whenever I just COULDN'T keep my composure, whenever the tears finally filled me so much they began to escape on their own, where we went for supper and I had a couple of beers to calm my nerves. I cried again when I arrived home.
I cried copious tears last night. One for every wound that has been torn into me and opened and re-opened. One for every day of which I've had to endure pain. And many for the freshest wound torn into me, the second deepest wound I will forever have because of one person. How can one endure so many wounds from one person? And survive? I have no clue. This person was supposed to be the one who would come save me from all those who had previously hurt me, to shield and protect, to clean and cover my wounds and to give me the healing to forever make those wounds go away, maybe leaving only tiny, tiny scars to remind me of the hurt that had been there, but to remind me that I CAN heal and I CAN get through it... But instead, this person has been the one to hurt me the most, to rip and tear my skin BRUTALLY, and without mercy, so many times that even the old, original wounds and scars are covered by the fresh ones. I can't even THINK about my old wounds. I can only see and feel these.
Over time, some of the fresh wounds became not so fresh.. Some began to scab and to scar. Some never properly healed and sometimes fresh, red, warm blood still flowed from them. But I was, essentially, better. Covered with scars, scabs and half-healed wounds but, somehow, I survived. Somehow, some way I was STILL ALIVE! Whether a blessing or a curse, I have no idea - but I was alive and it was time to start LIVING again. But I never got the chance to.
Like a tornado filled and fueled with saws, razors, blade, knives - ANYTHING SHARP - this person flew through. Not once, not twice, but MANY times, waiting over my head like a guillotine for the proper time to lower and to chop a new wound into me before retreating again to wait for the next chance. This last wound may be fatal. Maybe, finally, after so many attempts, I have finally been slaughtered. I wait in darkness, bruised, battered, bloody, torn, on the edge of the universe, the edge of MY universe. And I wait...
And you're to blame.
You give love a bad name...
Last night I was mercilessly shot through the heart. With a silver bullet as a pre-caution.
I cried fast, violent, bitter tears on the front steps of the youth project. People walked by and watched and I continued to cry. I just didn't care. Jon came up and lifted me off the steps but I could barely stand because I cried so hard, my tears so violent that they racked my entire body. I cried into his arms as people continued to walk by. I cried in his car. Tears fell at Mollyz whenever I just COULDN'T keep my composure, whenever the tears finally filled me so much they began to escape on their own, where we went for supper and I had a couple of beers to calm my nerves. I cried again when I arrived home.
I cried copious tears last night. One for every wound that has been torn into me and opened and re-opened. One for every day of which I've had to endure pain. And many for the freshest wound torn into me, the second deepest wound I will forever have because of one person. How can one endure so many wounds from one person? And survive? I have no clue. This person was supposed to be the one who would come save me from all those who had previously hurt me, to shield and protect, to clean and cover my wounds and to give me the healing to forever make those wounds go away, maybe leaving only tiny, tiny scars to remind me of the hurt that had been there, but to remind me that I CAN heal and I CAN get through it... But instead, this person has been the one to hurt me the most, to rip and tear my skin BRUTALLY, and without mercy, so many times that even the old, original wounds and scars are covered by the fresh ones. I can't even THINK about my old wounds. I can only see and feel these.
Over time, some of the fresh wounds became not so fresh.. Some began to scab and to scar. Some never properly healed and sometimes fresh, red, warm blood still flowed from them. But I was, essentially, better. Covered with scars, scabs and half-healed wounds but, somehow, I survived. Somehow, some way I was STILL ALIVE! Whether a blessing or a curse, I have no idea - but I was alive and it was time to start LIVING again. But I never got the chance to.
Like a tornado filled and fueled with saws, razors, blade, knives - ANYTHING SHARP - this person flew through. Not once, not twice, but MANY times, waiting over my head like a guillotine for the proper time to lower and to chop a new wound into me before retreating again to wait for the next chance. This last wound may be fatal. Maybe, finally, after so many attempts, I have finally been slaughtered. I wait in darkness, bruised, battered, bloody, torn, on the edge of the universe, the edge of MY universe. And I wait...