do not bleed for me

but how do i put this-- 

i did not ask you to bleed for me. 

i did not ask to be saved. 

i did not ask for the choice you made--

her, not me-- 

and i never asked to live with this. 

i never wanted to be born 

guilty. 

your hands have eroded down to bone 

red red red, sticks and stones, 

wrists thin and hot in 

my hands, soft hands, sweet hands, 

sacred as a lamb's slit throat. 

it's not your fault-- 

no, it's not, 

it's yours, 

because i did not choose this 

to be your salvation made flesh 

proof of your sacrifice 

and how can i be so ungrateful, 

when the proof of the cost of me 

is written in everything you gave up 

everything that is not enough to make me 

stay. 

your hands are so warm. 

i am already forgetting that.