Hit

Clack your heels and close your eyes.

Maybe it will bring you to fantasy land.

We'll be Dorothy and you the hurricane,

bringing life, as we know it, to a still stand.

It's the same thing on repeat. 

In you come whirling bringing 

chaos along. And I need you to see

that the defeat in our eyes are

tears we were meant to be crying. 

The way we can't process

any feelings made out of anger

has me revoking my own sanity,

for the sake of yours. There is 

no way that will end the hurt.

You like to punch in windows

than complain that you got cut,

forcing yourself through openings

that you yourself had barred.

That you yourself had locked.

If you need our lips bleeding, 

you already got your wish.

We let you hurt and burn

to your hearts content and positioned 

ourselves to take every hit.

Blue eyes lined our faces.

As you deemed it not enough,

you angled for another punch.

With a shovel and a dig,

You buried everyone's love.

You didn't lose us, you lost your patience. 

This isn't a fairytale in which it all get repaired magically.

Blood is very hard to get out of the carpet.

And shiny red heels are hard to come by, you see.