We were bleeding from the outside,
things were getting in here,
foreign bodies and such,
things that when they broke through the skin were unsettling to say the least,
and so often,
I did that,
said less than was necessary,
than was called for,
but we were getting further and further away from each other,
and I kept yelling at you to check the cuts and scars on your cheek,
I think I thought that saying it out loud made me human,
or more humane,
which was ridiculous,
pointing it out didn't make me more empathetic,
it was just an observation,
and you were still bleeding out,
so was I,
and I kept looking at you,
different, but the same way you were looking at me,
but we were at a standstill for compassion,
an impasse you might say,
and it was disturbing to say the least
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