You leave without a kiss as I lay here wide awake. And my mind begins to wonder as I think, this could be it; I could finally be free.

Love? What is love? Is it this screwed up way of living through the words you angrily write as you hide beneath a different story? Is it the way you let the water so scalding hot run over you in hopes that this can be washed away? Is it the nights you lay awake, struggling to be the semicolon and not the period? Is it the way you tremble under the sheets as they are fast asleep beside you? Is it pretending not to feel the pain as they slip inside you? The way you bite your lip to hide the cries of sheer terror rising in your ever sinking breasts? Is it the lies and the feeling that you are unworthy of anything better?

They taught me how to look for them. In the alley ways, a bar, or a loud house party. In the drunk on the street, or the crazy uncle. I knew the places to be careful of, and the things I shouldn't wear or say.

But I never thought it'd be here in my bed. I never thought it would be these sheets or that those words would be I love you. They never taught me that warm sheets and tender touches would result in this. But who would've known? And who can I tell? I turned on the water, so hot that I could barely think. But I could think enough to place that knife to my chest and carve. Carve at my own beautiful skin until my hands shook so hard that they could no longer contain the pain leaking from my pores. Carve until I heard that delicate skin rip. Carve until I thought that next time you'd see how I destroyed myself you would recoil with disgust. I carved until I made it better. There would be no need to cry. There would be no more because I was no longer your perfect doll. But you took joy from my pain.

So forgive me for hoping that this time would be the end. That maybe you'd found someone with more wounds to pour your salt on. That you would decide to keep one of your other lovers instead of making me you're muse. That maybe this once I could be lucky enough to be set free.

The truth could never set me free. I would have to do this myself. I had nothing left to give. There was nothing more for you to take, but somehow you found a way. You found a way to make these walls a permanent part of my body. And then you left me, and I was heartbroken.

I never thought that I'd be the victim. I never saw the trap, so delicately placed in between the chorus of your songs and the spaces between your fingers. I never thought a laugh could feel so broken or a smile could be so shallow; but as I look in the mirror I see these things in me. I see the invisible bruises and the scars. I see your angry eyes blazing as your delicate mouth moves furiously and you make your way towards me. I see the sheets protesting alongside me. I hear the cries of my soul and the ripping of my insides. There was nothing I could do.

No one thought to teach me how to defend myself against love...

In order to heal we must first forgive... and sometimes the person we must forgive is ourselves. - Mila Bron