Unto Her, Unto Me
She can't see her veins,
Because I cut them out.
I sat here all night,
With a blunt butter knife.
She won't let them know,
She can't possibly shout;
I cut out her tongue,
Still using the knife.
She can't thank me,
I'm sure that she would..
But I can't hear without ears,
Even if she could.
~Written in mid-2003 (8th/9th, June-October) when I was fourteen/fifteen.
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