I remember the first week after you left,
I woke up screaming your name in the dead of the night,
& as I repeated in my head,
this is hard, this is hard, this is hard,
It gradually became worse when the withdrawal kicked in,

& by the second week I was scared to sleep,  
The bags under my eyes matched the colors of the bruises that littered my skin,
I sat in the darkest corner in my room,
with stained black tears from the amount of mascara I put on,
I tried to go out, but everywhere I went I saw you,

& when the third week concluded,
I hadn't seen light in days,
if I had turned on the lights or let the sunlight in,
I would see the place where we first had ***,
or where we danced in the moonlight,
or the spot where you slapped me,
& the room where you got drunk & slept,

& the sad thing is,
is that I can't blame you for your mistakes,
if I hadn't have laughed,
or if I cooked dinner on time,
you wouldn't have gotten angry,

I knew you loved me,
I always knew,
but what hurts worse than the sting of the hit,
or the pain when I witnessed you and my sister,
is that the last thing you ever said,
was the three words that I was always scared to hear,

but if you really loved me,
I would be in your arms,
as you play with my hair,
and we argue back & forth who's sorry,
you always came back to me,
but not this time.