Eye of the Abuser

There’s a difference between love and hate

as hard as I try, I can’t describe what the dissimilarity is.

One moment my heart is wrapped around your finger on steel strings;

the next it shreds like shrapnel as you tug in a different direction.

I wish I could remember the resurgence as you warm my soul,

but now all I can feel is the chilling numbness that pervades this gaping wound.

Just as it heals, your fingers twist in a way that starts the bleeding again,

and the only thing that comes to mind is to desperately scream your name

You were the abuser, yet I was entranced by your slow-boiled manipulation

everyone assures me that this wasn’t my fault,

Or maybe I’m an animal that deserves the abuse.

 

Author’s Words for Thought

“There are far too many silent sufferers.  Not because they don’t yearn to reach out, but because they’ve tried and found no one who cares.” -Richelle E. Goodrich

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