Bruises

Nov. 11th, 2007 05:56 pm
[personal profile] wot_i_wrote
They say this love will be the death of me:
if I don't end it he will by his hand.
They see my bruises and his jealousy
and think they know, but they don't understand.

They cannot see the marks made deep within:
the scorching every time he looks my way;
the pit of longing, yearning for his skin;
cold emptiness when I send him away.

They say I was a fool to make this choice,
that I should change the locks upon my heart.
They have not felt my every cell rejoice
when he returns and swears we shall not part.

They say this love will be the death of me.
They're right. I give myself up willingly.
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