Trying to flee but tripping,
On the clothes he leaves
Strewn about my bedroom floor.
Reminders of how he drags me in.
Over and over.
Sipping on air he steals
From these lungs.
He coils himself around me,
Hands enclosed around my throat.
Begging me, pleading, stay.
Five more moments, he whispers
sweetly, softly into my hair.
But his words cut like razors
on the soles of these feet,
as I tiptoe from the bed.
He does not force this poison
Past these lips. But oh,
How easy it is to ignore him
At the bottom of a bottle,
At the end of a cigarette.
These paper thin limbs,
flimsy without him now.
I cannot slam doors,
On someone who is forever
Stood on my side of the frame.
I, his melancholy mistress,
Am comfortable only
In the dark shadows he casts,
When his cold arms
Are encircling my waist.
If I drop him,
Surely my own heart of glass
Must shatter?
Tell me, how can I ever look upon a mirror
If he is not there to crack my reflection.
Some feelings