Nothing left for me to give.
Nothing left for you to take.
This is no life to live,
dissonance of my real and my fake.
Hiding behind a mask,
a less vulnerable place to be.
Slamming my face with the flask,
until it’s a blur and I am no longer me.
The truest me lingers in confusion,
figuring out who to be.
A comedown from the disillusion,
unable to break free.
The only pill hard to swallow
is one not taken with poison.
I clench the pill between my teeth,
wetting my lips with the burning liquid.
These same lips of which still cannot utter
The intoxicant pushes the pill down my throat.
The same forceful push that landed me on the cold ground of his bedroom floor.
Down my throat, I feel the pill sliding.
The same throat that was desperately screaming for help.
The same throat that grew
tired, sore, achy, and worn,
Just as my soul has become.
The bottle says “do not take with alcohol”
But my mind screams, “escape”.
My vision of that night becomes blurred as
the pill runs its course and
it becomes the best sleep
I’ve had since I met him.
I am the dirty rag you use
to clean up your orgasmic stains.
Desired, when I am useful.
Disgusting, once you are satisfied.
Use me, throw me, stain me, taint me.
I have seen your flaws,
but still choose to cleanse you.
Like the dried up rag under your bed,
you hide me from the world.
I am a reminder of your weaknesses.
Your impulsions, you imperfect being.
No purpose do I longer serve,
so on the floor I reside
until you finally see my worth
after you’ve made love only to yourself
and have left none for me
I long to split my being in two
I’d give half to him, the other to you.
Think with my mind? Choose with my heart?
From both you and him, I cannot part.
You are good for my future
He is food for my soul
You were my abuser
But still, you make me whole.
I think I am unlovable
My hands ruin souls of those I touch
The love I give is destructible
Yet, I don’t want to escape your clutch.
Your face is etched into my eyes and
Traced on my brain like an unfading tattoo. This permanent reminder of all that I hate was unsolicited and the ink penetrated my skin as you infiltrated my existence.
Your hot breath reeked of poison.
I still feel it on my neck…smell it in the dark…
Face to face with a cultural flaw.
Masculinity as a mask.
Choking on your name as a remembrance of your sweaty palms around my feeble neck.
Never to tell a soul
the entire truth of horror faced in an instant.
Some things are better left unsaid.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Trying to wash my skin of your violent grasp
I sit and write in safety…
but will forever be afraid.
One hundred eyes watch as you cannot seem to come to grasp
With those arbitrary obligations from those who do not show you more than a mere passing glance.
You crave, however, to please each pair of those observant one hundred eyes and
find yourself drunk off the illusion of reciprocally being ached for all the same.
Conjectures are formed based off of the capricious expectations from those same watching one hundred eyes.
We presume that those who pretend to be the happiest, are in fact, naturally untroubled.
The saddest soul of all knows, however, that one can never truly become immune to the disease known as Conformity.
And still, one hundred judging eyes will spread their illness until the rest of us find ourselves relentlessly unwell for eternity.
I find myself feverish at the very thought.