Don't Tell Me That You Know

Don’t Tell Me That You Know

It pisses me off, every time I share a part of my story, and you say, “I know how you feel.”
My temperature rises, my eyes water, my pulse paces
You know how I feel? 
You don’t know anything.
Don’t try to sympathize with me.

Did you cringe when he got on top?
Did you cry when he wouldn’t stop?
Did you bleed when he cut my wrists?
Did you feel the force of his fists?
Did you smell the liquor on his breath?
Did you feel like you were living death?
Did you know it would happen again,
But next time with two other men?
Were you begging to be free,
When he put you on your knees?
Did you want to bite it off
When he choked you and you coughed?
Was your body sore and bruised?
Did you feel helplessly used?
Did nightmares replace your dreams?
Was your chest raw from your screams?
Is he trapped within your being?
Did you see your respect fleeing?
Did he steal all of your worth?
Bury your faith deep in the earth?
Did he take your hopes away?
Leave you lonely to decay?
Were you isolated from friends?
Your best relations could not mend?
Was he your predator and protector?
So that your whole soul you surrendered?
Did he crush your spirit and enslave your mind,
To keep you in his stark confines?
When you finally were let loose
Did you run back to the noose?
Did you let him back on top?
But you never did say stop?
Was the liquor on his breath?
Were you ready for your death?
You let him touch your skin again?
You let him get another win?

So you know how I feel?
You don’t know anything.
Don’t try to sympathize with me.
Don’t tell me that you know.