First you tell me to leave my emotions behind me.

The second I try, you tell me otherwise.

You say you hate it when I'm cold to the world.

So why did you push me off the edge?

I thought you cared.

So why would you hurt me?

Then not even look at me.

You say you can't look at what you have done.

But I have to.

So you do too.

Look at the bruises; count all the stitches.

Look into my swollen eyes.

And for what?

Then we are both in pain.

So don't look at me.

And next time I want the truth.

Don't tell me.