Would you have me, let you be?
Am I truly the catalyst to your rotting?
Have I killed the pieces left in you so silently?
Are you truly becoming deader, every day you spend with me?
My words are usually my bandages, proverbially and physically. In every sense they can be. A defense, a comfort, something to stop the hemorrhaging. I feel I have done wrong, but he would never tell me. I wonder if I should disappear. But how can I change for him when the mistakes I seem to have made are never revealed? I want to be better.. I wish I was better. Not just for Him but, for me.
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