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?


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