I saw the pain, the cut on your leg, the scar on your arm, the blood soaked washcloth, the water at your eyes. I saw you in pain, the grinding of your teeth, the humming of your lips as your hand held pressure on your wound.
I saw you in pain but I also saw through it. There on the tiles you lie, worrying how many cuts away from dying. I once saw you smiling, half a mile from somewhere, there at the coffee shop, someone tried a long shot. Now all I see is the pain, but there’s something more to it – It’s a life you crave, not a knife to it.