I do not want to be this difficult
I do not want my wounds
to turn me into something selfish
I do not want solitude,
yet solitude is all I seem to inherit
I do not want to be cruel
I do not want to leave scars
where I only meant to leave words.
staining the clean canvas i
made in deep crimson red
no matter how many tissues
the red kept spilling
until there is nothing left
but the mess i made
why must i crave?
must i tear?