If I had known any better,
i would walk away at the sight of his malicious eyes
but every single damned time I’m induced with nothing more than a love letter.
It seems that I enjoy when he fiercely clenches my breasts, neck, and thighs.

he claims he never wanted to hurt me-- that "all relationships go through this phase."
i glance at his monstrous 6 foot frame in dismay;
speechless and confused as I stroke my bruised face,
quietly walking away knocking over whiskey bottles and an ashtray

maybe he does love me and i just question him too much.
perhaps I deserve his violent, bloody touch.

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