“The boy is fragile, broken—broke himself—broke everything. I asked him why he did it. He said because the world was unlivable. He said it was unlovable,
but I think he meant himself.” – Brenna Yovanoff
“Push, pull, shove me, to that end we both know is there
Cheat, steal, cut me, when we both know you don’t care
Lie, prey, vex me, the broken windshield will show
Anger, pain, crush me, glass in bloodied water glows”
Love so strong and innocent dies betrayed, the broken windshield another victim of your lies. My knuckles are wounded from defending your evil intentions. The glass buried in them, kept there by darkened bloody scabs, seeps out, along with your memory, in tainted fluids of slow death. This windshield isn’t the first broken by fists of rage fueled with shattered feelings from your childish manipulations of my undefiled affection. A little grin of amusement decorates your facade, you’re entertained by the show you’ve created, and with that smirk, you settle back to wait. Playing the innocent, you set the trap for another Savior to ride in on his white horse, a chivalrous fool coming to your feigned rescue. Like you, the windshield is easily replaced, it’s easy to buy inanimate cold things.