Cutting

I cannot relate myself
to who you are under your ground,
thrust upon your earth comprised
of depths too firm yet to be found

Tears fail to soften your surface,
firmness to resist your own,
thrust upon your rock that bruises
until all your wounds are shown

I would coat my wounds in locked doors,
you would pry them open still
How was I to find my peace
when you insisted on my ill

I would filter glares with mist
screening my eyes as tears ran free
How could I come to see through you
when you aimed to rid of me

I wish I could tend to your wounds
made of my running from you
as you pried my locked doors open
for what was to be seen through

Yet the cutting of your eyes, your words,
cannot escape from me
I cannot purge locks when I
am not who you wanted to see

I cannot relate myself
to who you are under your ground,
dying to escape your hell
they thrust me under to surround