Our Last Words

Our last words.
All come out.
Hurting or helping.
I don't fucking know.
We're not okay.
Like a dream, it doesn't seem real.
This isn't happening.
I hate that damn feeling.
Sickness. In your stomach.
When you're hurt.
When you're sad.
Sadly, I always feel it there.
I don't want to hear your last words.
You don't want to hear mine.
I'll learn to keep my heart away.
Locked in the chest.
I won't let anyone in.
I'm sorry, I don't like being hurt.
But I think I do.
I like to feel.
Anything.
Even if its pain.
So, in a way, thank you.
For hurting me.
For tearing me apart.
I'll just hold myself together
With my blood stained hands.
Sure, Ill heal.
But the scars will always be there.
I'm not sticking my hand back in the fire.
I've already been burned.
But I have to thank you.
To us, for our last words.