I will allow your empty eyes to dance with mine,
your mouth to spit poison into my ear,
and your wicked touch to feather my heart,
But, don’t think I am foolish.
Your attempts at love, or what you call
love is meager at best.
And while you flatter me with affection, you
embolden me more with the back of your
hand.
For every thunderous welt you toughen
my delicate organ.
The bruises dissipate days after, leaving behind
a stone solid will and a carefully strategic mind
to match.
So, keep on believing your everything and more,
keep on believing you’re the best, I implore you.
For there is nothing sweeter than the scars that
I can render upon your pathetic excuse of being.
Perhaps, what helps me sleep at night is the greatest
fact that you my dearly beloved won’t even see it
coming.
I’ll just keep on obeying, and smiling, doing
what is expected of me.
That is, of course, until the day I don’t.
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