Stitch Lips

I remember you.

There was a time when I would wipe away your tears. A time when I would whisper that everything would be okay. When I wanted nothing more than my fingers to caress the side of your face, but you don't want my hands. You want the rough hands of the one who sutured your pretty little mouth shut. He's always cutting, always hurting, and leaving unnecessary scarring. I've put on my latex gloves, removed the stitches, and applied the ointment hoping that you would sing for me.

Why won't you sing for me?