Love Hurts.

I stumbled across this piece while going through old files of my writing earlier today. Most of my writing in the past six months has been inspired by the rollercoaster of insane emotions that made up my days - but not this piece. I remember writing this in a drunken haze after learning that one of my friends was in an abusive relationship...and refused to leave it, regardless of the pain, physical and mental, this person was being put through.

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Hit me, shake me, push me, slap me til I’m black and blue and cannot stand. Burst vessels behind my eyes as the tidal waves of pain thunder in my ears and rattle the marrow in my jaw.
Countless times would I stand up again just to be laid flat- quiet my pleas and accept the apology rolling from your trite, sober tongue in the morning.

But. You are not so kind.

Your attack leaves no bruises. The tongue, quicker than any upraised hand strikes with the force of a head on collision – over before the sound registers. The sickening crunch of cruel truths and lies fill the room and I’m thrown – shattered to pieces – mind splitting, arteries pouring pulsating streams of r.e.d. – all over the floor where we first made love.

I stand, broken, somehow still whole and search for a lone whisper of defiance rattling around my chest. Nothing. I exhale, empty, and stumble to our bed. Sore, one more night, alone beside you, hoping in vain the morning will open your eyes and you’ll see again what lured you so long ago.

Love. This violent sickness will kill me yet.