When I was hurt you picked up the peices,
and put them back together.
You are the Soul resposible for making me complete,
the one responsible for turning pain into joy.
Then in one greedy moment of anger,
you took it all away.
Now all thats left
are the peices of a broken life,
and a shattered heart.
In my greatest moment of need,
you turned your back one me
as the rest of the world has down so many times,
I'm naive to think I've found a friend,
someone who understands my hidden anguish.
But in the end instead of healing my bloody and salted wounds,
you tore them open wider,
and drew fresh blood.

Are you proud of what you've done?



(i know the grammer is bad, i wrote it when i was 14)