Only Half The Time

We are two sick people. Joined by the fine balance of trauma and love.
We are so intense.
Madness seems to surround us, yet we pretend to be content.
I feel so filthy now.

I try to love you, but all you do is hate.
My words become sharp like a knife because of the pain you caused, and it’s been cutting so deep.
Unbreakable, I thought, till I became nothing.
I hurt
I scream
I yell
I suffer
I am tired.
The light used to be so bright.
But now, all that passes through my mind is that next sip. I want it so bad. It takes me away. My mind goes on vacation.
My body floats.
The hands you put on me, feel less.
The words you cut me with are slowly forgotten.
My body suffers, yet right now, I am OK with that.
I cry out for help.
Nobody hears me.
I am alone.
I am not who you think I am. I am just not loved.
Every touch you give me, feels like the first.
I think to myself…
Finally, he loves me, and I can breathe.
And in the same thought…
He chokes me with his words, and I die a little more each time.
I am alone.

I look over, and you are gone.
You leave every time.
Where does your mind travel to?
Will you ever know?
I get the spins, so I lie down.
I am at peace now.