You sit with your back against the bedpost
In the dark you wait for text to flash up on your phone
You messed up your wrists; here's a toast:
"Here's to you, you sorry bastards, I'm sitting here all alone
In the misused disused mistaken discontent"
You cry an empty stomach sick, sore in vain
A bleep on the screen, the message has sent
A quick slip, detour of blade, a score of pain
In the night she shakes, the voices speak
The face laugh, the shadows dance
They tell her that her heart is weak
In shallow shame, she takes the chance
She starts again, the cuts are brisk and curt
You cover them up but the scars dont fade
Dont lie to me, I scream in aching hurt
Give up the cut glass, the scissor blade
It hurts more than the pain of knife's edge would me
To have to watch you stagger and stumble
Put it down, put it down, Je t'aime, mon cherie
I text you back : "Let the dagger crumble'
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