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Somewhere You Went Wrong
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fallen Your hands are getting weaker, callouses are smoothing down and for some reason you hate to lose your rough hands even though you hated to work that made them that way.
Your arms, it seems, have trouble wrapping around certain things. They wrap hesitantly around your girlfriend but, maybe through one of the only things you learned from your father, they are quick to wrap around beer bottles and the drugs your friends pass around or offer you when, again, you find yourself unable to go home.
Your feet stay strong and rough as you dislike shoes, you enjoy the feeling of the rocks rolling under your feet because you don't give a shit if you fall. No one cares if you fall and you have learned not to, either.
You can't decide if your body or your mind took the most of the beatings you give yourself. Your wrists have now seen the inside of more bandages than sunlight, your hips bracketed in more hands than lovers, your heart too many enemy soldiers and not enough medics, your mind has been warped to believe every lie that came out of his mouth and your self-worth fluctuates whether he is happy or not.
You aren't sure anymore. Of anything, all you know is beautiful self-destruction and the addiction to it. All you know anymore is your body doesn't respond the way people think it should as they stare at the barefooted girl in the cold, as your tattered clothing give away that in your drug filled haze you can't feel the freezing air around you, they can tell that everyone left you, they can tell that somewhere, you went wrong.
