I have lived through pain
and desire nothing more than to escape
the feeling that I once knew,
yet I continue to pour my heart out
to a man who could care less about my condition,
a man who roams the earth searching for satisfaction
that I can never provide him.
I settle down into his cold burning stare
and feel the effects of love emanate from my bleeding heart.
Is this what love is supposed to be, or am I convinced
that I deserve nothing more than his charm?
He digs through me like a dagger,
pushing the blade deeper, deeper
into my bones which have become so frail,
until I have nothing left but an empty heart,
torn by the sharpness of his ego.
As pain drips down my chest,
I slowly drag my fingers through my own blood,
tasting the lust that was mistaken for love--
a deep bitter poison
which I willingly consumed,
a poison no doctor can get rid of.
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