My eyes spill pensive vacancy, my battered hands are my diary. 
Read along with me, its a short novel and the chapters are all titled mistakes. 
Turn each page and everyone of them says I love her. 
What's my mistake then if its love? 
Love is not mistaken but it can be unwantingly profound. 
The same three words that give you life will make a person want to kill them self. 
I practiced how to kiss her a million times a day 
and would a million more to make it perfect.

 and its devastating  to know that she only kisses her once, she doesn't care if its perfect. 

its unfair to bleed wrist for perfection but I would carve perfection a million times if I could float on my bloodstream to her bedside.