At my last resort, I am trapped in between tears. Running from this violent image I painted in your mind. Mutilation has it's rights and wrongs, hidden in the blade you use to shave your legs. So smooth are they, so sharp is this...knife in my back. This scar so perfect, so beautiful, it's not healing. I miss phone calls in the middle of the night, begging you to rip out the razor sliced into the letter I burned in your heart. Shove it down, push it back, with voices so loud. A dead conversation bringing back the time you knew you were wrong. Tainted is this wound, annihilated is your face.