Rivers Poem by Atticus Mortimer

Here we are again,
confused,
angry,
and more than a little distraught,
Partly my fault,
partly yours,
these arguments,
they become tedious,
and hurtful,
oh so hurtful,
the thought of this brings me to tears,
so,
then pours the rivers of blood,
from my eyes,
and my wrists,
and as you weep rivers of tears,
I bleed,
But my wounds will heal,
and so will yours,
Only so,
We can repeat this tedious process,
All over again.