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Me or her?
The silence dawned upon us like glass piercing through my heart seeping quietly. Letting the gash of scarlett blood drip inch by inch, second by second, just a little more to wipe every shard of pain. The glass slips through my fingers, snipping clean porcelain skin but not enough adrenaline to pump evey nerve of my body. I break the soft of my arms, desperate for the torrid cherry liqud. Not enough hurt, not enough that will truly slash through my heart.
Me or her? Again and again, so I stab it right through the edge of my head, feeling the sticky ooze of blood. I should not hear these words because it is not meant to be a question.
After all this time? After everything between us, the prospect of me or her is still a question.
I stab harder until I forget, because it was always me.
I was your yellow in a field of grey. She was nothing but a pitifully mixed orange imitation. So perhaps a little bit of red will make you like me -- a little blood and a little hurt.
author's note: this may or may not have happened to me irl. (just the question tho, not the blood thing haha)
