I will keep fighting till I win this thing
I will keep striving till I beat this thing
It doesn’t look like progress but I won’t stop
Even with blurred vision from the tears that drop
I may ache from the wounds on my back
My shoulders may be heavy but they won’t stay slack
I will carry the scars of my past with pride
I will win the battle and have nothing to hide

-

Round and round the loop we go
Time and again, with zero restraint
Hearts “encore” the macabre dance of martyrdom called love
Writhing in pain, but without complaint

-

Though my spirits be beaten
And parts of my heart be uneven
Though my knees buckle under the weight of the pain
I will put on my braces and I will love again

-

I don’t know if I want you back
Or if it’s Stockholm Syndrome
Perhaps what I truly lack
Isn’t closure, but wisdom

-

To You

To the one whose heart I broke under the guise of self discovery
I hope you find happiness in someone who fancies pottery
I hope she picks up the pieces that my selfishness helped shatter
I hope she molds you afresh and puts you back together

To the one whose trust I betrayed when words full of promise, one day, turned empty
I'll accept my fate if your wounded soul decides to haunt me
I can't say I'll take whatever punishment you decide to dole
But if He'll answer, I'll pray the Lord your self to console

I realize now that I've kept my heart locked
That I've chased away, and run from, all appearances of love
I find myself comparing, I've let my mind wander
But I've found none else to whom I can fully surrender

I'm not so selfish that I'd ask a second chance
I'm not so greedy that I'd try to rekindle our romance
I just wanted, post-catharsis, to write an apology letter
To the one whose heart I broke, that rainy night in September

-

I knew he loved me because he sent me hardcopies of my favorite authors every week, and a bottle of red wine to go with.

-

He told me I was art

He echoed it as he kissed every angle
Whispered it as he stroked every contour
Repeated it as he fingered every crevice
Sang it as he brushed every frame

His eyes would linger
As my eyelashes would flutter
As he examined and scrutinized
Every shade and texture

Then he'd resume his arousal
And continue his perusal
I even heard him thank the Lord
As he thrusted his approval

-

Note to My Artist Lover

I want you to paint me with all the colours of your emotions
Let your hands stroke and let your tongue spread
Let your hands trace every strand on my head
Let your lips retouch and your eyes peruse
Watch my body quiver as you make me your muse

-

Relapse

"Why do you try so hard?", he asked.
That willowy figure with contrasting strength
The one that kept happiness at arm's length
The one who spread his clouds over my sun
That one, his torture had once again begun

"Leave me be!", I cried.
I pushed, I shoved, I shouted and screamed
I reached for my sun, or at least a beam
My lungs were full, but my ducts had run empty
My shoulders slacked, as I tried to conserve my energy

The figure laughed, and pulled my frame into a dark corner
My old room, where he'd kept me for a half decade and three quarters
"There we go, I'd left your spot clean.
Stupid girl, did you think I'd let you leave?".

He was right, you know. It had been stupid of me
To think I could leave, and really be free
I hugged my knees and pulled closer to the wall
The wall that I had built, my all in all.

-

As she sat in her room staring at her screen with empty eyes
She played through her head all the positivity-filled lies...
... she'd told herself so she wouldn't have to remember
How she'd escaped it that night of November
The light from the screen cast luminescence on her face
So she noticed when a darkness was out of place
She recognized the figure from those bleak nights
The ones she had before taking flight
But she couldn't seem to move, she just stared as it said, sending her shivers,
"Hello, old friend, you can't run for long, Remember?"

-