Frayed

Maybe,

Just maybe,

If you stopped retying the strings that I so meticulously cut and fray,

That I so desperately need to be gone,

That leave scars on my fingertips that trail all the way down my arms and to my heart,

We would be okay,

Maybe,

Just maybe,

I wouldn't feel the urge to bash my head into a wall,

Until my skull is showing and blue paint so lovingly applied is splattered a delightful red,

Every time I was given an instruction,

Maybe,

Just maybe,

If the pressure was relieved,

If you let me cut the strings away,

I would love you.