Stained knife blades

Now seem like rubies

You have cherished 

Each you have stabbed me with

They have only become sharper

From stabbing my heart

I shall let you treasure them

And move on

My wounds will heal

But though your knives will rust

They shall forever carry the stains

Of deciet and your debauchery

And should you run back to me

Know, I shall be here

For I have known better

It is your nature to hurt.