You cut your hand on the rock
I left on your bed.
With chipped purple paint, 
sharpied on smile.
You appreciated it, 
for the childlike whimsy.
You even appreciated
the sore twinge of your fresh cut.
The dark red stain,
on the stone.
It reminded you of me, 
a mix of pain and happiness, 
disgusting copper full of love,
you miss me, 
a painful peace.
You want to throw that rock
through my window all the same.