Needles.Sharp and pointy objects which inflict pain.You've decided to use them on me.These images of sharp needles haunt me every night in my sleep,to make it worse I imagine them laid out neatly under the moonlight,waiting to be used on me.

You pick them up with your long and slender fingers,gliding over the length of a needle before you bring it close to my skin.

Prick.

Prick.

Prick.

The needle does it's job and I feel the pain which I'm supposed to feel.A thousand of them in my heart and another thousand in my head,the needles continue to prick.You,being you decide to coat them with words.Your words which have become a toxic song which I cannot get out of my head.I continue to sit there,while hope decided to pump itself out of my lungs,wishing that the needles were coated with poison instead.

It would have been so much more easier to bear.