fragile foundation

every twist of inadequacy's blade

(each one worse than the previous)

fell in a rhythmic order, one that your silence

carried in. did you hate me?

you'd never say so. so blindly, i never changed.

(i never knew to.) one night in february, your silence

shattered, glass facets found my eyes, i bled,

and bled, and bled. (i knew this would happen.)

i knew, because the only circumstances

under which you'd speak with a mild sense of feeling

were when i was desperately in pain.

only when i passed out in my blood that i extracted

did you harbor your silent judgment.

i wanted to be your best friend.

(at least, i wanted to tell everyone

that you were my best friend.)

it's absurd, how dumbly blind we become

in the wake of denying toxicity. i stood there, i chanted

"the bloodshed, the pain, the inadequacy, how vain,

all worth the rare moments when you acted like you cared."

i lied to myself. i tend to. (we tend to.)

if just a single strand can hold two worlds together,

one woven of 99% crimson pain

and 1% artificial love

is a strand that's bound to break.