make it stop.

please, i beg you, make it stop hurting.

i've jumped through all your hoops of unrealistic expectations, i've inhaled the secondhand-ciagarette smoke of your happiness at my pain, i've learned to thank you for kissing the underside of my jaw with your shotgun.

i've done these, but you won't help me stop hurting. you would rather hide your heated hands in my hair, fisting them tight and twisting my thoughts so they reach your skewed dreams of this thing called "love." you would rather run your barbed-wire tongue down my spine, twining your tender lashes around my scarred arms. you would rather hand me a knife and laugh in my tearing eyes at how no matter how hard i stab my chest, the hard rubber will never penetrate my parchment-thin skin.

you enjoy this, don't you?

you enjoy causing me pain and refusing me the joy of finding an excuse to hate myself more. you offer me wine from the palm of your hand, lowering it so i can barely reach it with my tongue. and then you hold me gently, easing the pain you caused with your own greed.

and you say i can stop my hurting? no--i can't because you can't stop hurting

me. take a knife and cut my heart out....

make my hurting stop.