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Breaking

She knows what she should do,
she knows what she wants to do,
but that’s the problem.

The end
is the end,
and there’s no going back.
But does she want to go back?
Not really.
Should she go back?
Yes.

She’s cried too much,
much too much
from this problem.
It’s an ongoing game
of who can hurt who;
an ongoing game
of who will break first.

She knows that she won’t;
she’s gone through too much
to break from some words,
but she’s not worried about herself.

The other girl,
her friend,
can’t stand much more.
She sees it,
and cries inside
as her friend crumbles.

She’s causing some of that pain,
she’s causing some of those tears.
She’s a part of it,
and she wishes she could stop,
to go away to a point of no return.

But the other girl insists,
she wants to keep the friendship,
she wants to try harder,
she wants to defy the odds,
and prove that they can be
the best of friends.

So the girl obeys,
because she wants to prove it too.
She wants to continue,
and be the best of friends.
She knows that it will hurt her,
and it will hurt her friend more,
and she’s already hurt.

The girl
ignores her own pain
for her friend.
Her friend
ignores her own pain
for herself.
It hurts the girl
to know that her friend
only hurts for her,
and no one else.

And each time they fight,
the girl bleeds.
She bleeds to such an extent,
she doesn’t even know it anymore.

And in another fight,
the sting of a reopened cut
will come once more,
and go just as quickly.

Such petty problems,
petty problems of a teen.
She wishes she didn’t have them,
that everyone could be like her
and prefer no one.

But alas,
some break through,
some become close,
and hurt her,
and hurt her,
and leave.

She wants to leave,
but she can’t.
She has to leave,
but she won’t.

Who will break first?
She hopes it’s her
so that she can leave.