Blisters

I walked and walked but I didn't get small.

My blisters didn't heal but my belief in you shrunk,

and, yes, I have always wanted to know the mean truth

- no doubts, no fears; yes, what I know will hurt me

but what you think will eat me half-alive.

I have never been afraid of honesty

and I am no stranger to its blunt force.

Honestly, I would rather drip-bleed my whole life

than be torn heart from lung from liver,

but you never asked me

if I'd like to know the reason for your leaving

and, for the sake of my heart who had opened too wide to you,

whose words, on account of my honesty,

I believed truthful too soon,

I said I'd rather you ate me whole.

Not this time.

Leave me in the mouth of your silence,

suck me through denial's teeth

and I'll try to remember it was love.

If you were walking away,

keep walking and don't look back;

the blue would tell me why.

This time, I'll maintain,

I don't want to know.