Tears turn to steel and the wound never heals in the darkness of November

Whenever you pull out a knife and take a look at it, you can see the blade is chipped. And then you know the metal's still within you and you'll never get rid of it.

All you can do is learn to live with it.
Handicapped.

So maybe the bus driver slammed on the brake, or I fell down, or I'm riding a rollercoaster - the remains shake and leave a tiny, tiny scratch that spits out some more blood.

And then I think - it must be me.

There had to be something I lacked or did wrong for people to feel entitled to crush me over and over again. I had to have allowed them to think so little of me. I had to have demonstrated that little me didn't matter. I had to have been unable to build any sort of stronger bond. I had to have proven to be nothing more than a passer-by that no one was ever interested to see staying.

I had to have failed to show I meant to be much better than that.

Really, it had to have been me.