I don't know why,
Everything goes back to those days,
The smell of her blood,
And half molded clay,


Burns decorating her ankles,
As she walked a fine path,
One foot grounded and the other on air,
Standing only half and half,


The good and righteous,
At the end of her mind,
The things she had always hated,
Now making her blind,


If he hated those things also,
Would he not hate her,
If she did the worse of them,
Was she worth a cure,


She put love ahead of loyalty,
And reaped what she sowed,
Now she stands alone,
In a two person show,


Lash marks and hard blows,
Imprinted through time,
Friends and family,
Saying it's all fine,


Will it be okay,
Can things fix themselves again,
Where they ever mended,
Or was I faking my own win,


Butterfly kisses,
Now a thing of the past,
Butterfly tattoos,
That can never truly last,


What's there to do,
With tomorrow's grace,
Could I grin again,
Or make up my face,


Hoping for things to go her way,
As so familiar was this she,
Too bad Band-Aids can't heal these scars,
Perhaps it's stitches that we both need,