Every time that I look into your eyes

I fall a little more in mine.

Every time that I meet you, I tell myself that this is the last time I am doing so. This is the last time that I am letting my heart love you and my brain pretend that you are mine or at least once were. This is the last time I am letting you harm my soul. I tell myself that this is the last time I am doing this to myself. But somehow, time and again I find myself dancing to your tunes. Time and again I find myself licking your wounds and building cathedrals out of your shoe dust. Time and again I find myself pouring my heart out to fill your empty cup, the one from which you just drank her out. Time and again I find myself at the hands your mercy and between the teeth of my own judgment.

I am a willing victim of your selfish love. I am a product of your lustful thrusts that fucked my soul up in million shades of gray. I breathe in the smokes of your cigars as your blow off indifference right at my face, with your fingers carelessly play with my heart- passing it from between one finger to another. How can I blame you when it’s only me who would come crawling on my arms and knees, wagging my heart, at just one whistle that you blow? What do I blame you for when it’s only me who sells my body and opens my heart for free at whatever hour you knock my door? When do I blame you, when half the time goes in hating me? Yes, I don’t blame you for not loving me; I simply hate me for loving you still.

Though the idea of you soothes my soul, the sight of you is a stab at it. Though I die to feel your hands against my skin, your touch makes me feel like I am trading my worth for this need of feeling loved by you. You bought my soul by tossing useless words on me. Why? Why couldn’t you love me even when I tried so hard to make you do so? I let myself open for you to step in, not for you to pull out what little is left in me and hurl it into the air to be swallowed by nothingness.

You didn’t just kill me, you hurt her too. What little hope she had, you sucked that too. Your insatiable need has rendered us poor and destitute. Your incapability to love has left us convinced that we are unlovable. I only wanted to be your anchor but you cut the ropes; and left me there in the depths of hurt, pain, and betrayal while you, sailed through the storm and found another island. How could you? How can you use your pain as an excuse to torment others? How can you use your weaknesses as an excuse to do the wrong by them? How can you use your past as an excuse to ruin my future? Your paranoia has killed our hopes and beliefs!

Being with you is slow suicide, yet why, does my heart want to spend even these last precious moments lying neglected in your arms and breathing in your poisonous love? Why, when each cell of me protests against the anguish that you cause, do I find myself craving for you? Why, when every survival instinct begs me to turn my back on you, do I find it hard to let go of you? You never loved me, and the more I stay with you the better I see this, yet I make myself die at the peak of this realization over and over again. Why? Why can’t I simply love me enough and love me more?

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