There’s never noise.
The attacks are silent and small.
And I don’t make a sound
For that would worry you,
And we don’t want that, do we?
We twist and we turn
To avoid the confrontation
We know should come.
With blood dripping from our mouths
And vodka pouring
Out of the holes we tore in our chests,
We jab at each other,
Never close enough to do any real damage,
But the small scratches you leave
Accumulate on my body,
And the poison you pour over me
Seeps into my blood stream
Through those tiny lacerations,
And pain me when I try to wash away
The memories we made together.
I watch you prepare your weapons,
I watch you move closer toward me,
I watch you taunt me,
And I do nothing to stop you.
You make it feel like a game,
You cut me off and make me vulnerable,
Then when you’re the only person I can turn to
You take my heart
From the silver platter I deliver it to you on,
And tear into it with your carving knife.
You say you don’t eat meat
And it took me so long to realise,
That is because you don’t need to
After you engorge yourself
On my blood rich emotions.
And I say I stop caring,
That I’m finished with you,
But here I am still writing,
And I only write about the people I love.
What does that say about me?
What does that say about the hold you have?
When you told me to write about you, is this what you meant?