Blog #10 - Not Great Poetry

So I write about my life when I feel things... that's basically what this is... okay here they are.

Sometimes I go back to the room where you pulled all my insides out to find chunks of dried out entrails to bury in the hole in my head that you dug for me to find once you left me to die.

You broke my legs so I couldn't walk, and my arms so I couldn't reach out, and my neck so I couldn't look at you. You were saving me in a way, but I still somehow crawled back again.

And I'll walk into your knife again, and again, and again, and again, because it hurts, and red is your favorite color.

Even a friendly dog will bite when it's had enough of being a toy, and for that, he will pay with his life. With more force than before, he will now be what he risked his life not to be. He was too tired to keep playing.

And they all hurt you, and I'll give you my teeth and my fingerprints because they'll be tougher than you were, and my heart with all its love, and my lungs so you don't have to suffocate anymore, and my brain so you can think clearly. 

I'll fix it, like always. 

I'll save you.

Okay there's my shitty poetry bye.