Looking through your eyes was like seeing the same pain in mine,

every ounce of being treated unfairly by your mother, mirrored by my dad.

Tedious siblings cracking the glass in your soul,

the clock echoing as blood ran down your arms.

I was honest when I said I wanted to help,

and by the way you cried in my arms, on my parent's couch that night,

it seems I accomplished that, eased just a bit of your pain.

It has been many months since then.

Countless arguments and hateful comments soon took over what bond was there,

'You love me too much,' or 'I hate you'

I hope I didn't hurt you more than what I tried to heal,

but staring at the notifications each night,

'Think about her,'

'Put her stuff in boxes'

'Think about her'

'Give her jacket back'

'Think about her'

did you forget we shared a calendar?

-Ps, I hate you too.