It was once said that we "accept the love we think we deserve",
and I think of you and all the ways you'd shatter my nerves;
when you'd raise your voice or even a hand
every time I did something wrong - a mark on my skin you'd brand.

I was your canvas and your punches were the paintbrushes colouring me in,
painting me in explosions of blue, purple, red; completely covering my skin.
I took the poison you leaked and absorbed it entirely,
calling it love and I thought of you very highly.

I'd just wipe away my tears and apologise for making you mad,
convincing myself that I was the one who was bad -
but really you were the gunman shooting me down,
and the one pushing my head under the water hoping I'd drown.

It was once said that we "accept the love we think we deserve"
and as I sit here reflecting our "love" with reserve,
I realise I thought I was worthy of nothing but your violence,
but now I know better and the compassion I truly deserve is priceless.

Everything I touch,
Feels like a memory,
Of when you touched me,

Can I ask why you're still here,
Cluttering my mind,
Dominating my thoughts,
And making my body ache with longing,

Touch me,
Or walk away,

The choice is yours,

But I have no choice,

You have burrowed yourself under my skin,
And I can't find a knife sharp enough to,
Dig,
You,
Out.

She was with him and he with her,
Like parallel lines, they really were.
One loved the other but couldn't tell,
Likes they were, but they could not repel.

Curious they were about each other,
Like when a child sees another.
Strongly anxious yet hesitant,
Innocent it was, something prevalent.

It was special, that exact moment.
Better than love or any sort of romance.
Friends they were and they loved each other,
He looked at her, like he looked into the mirror.

I am a therapy of sorts.
I can listen to your woes
Massage your tired feet
Perhaps make you some cookies
Or other kinds of treats.
But I am not medicine.
I cannot cure all your worries,
Or stop the consistent aching in your heart.
I cannot stop you from going over the edge
Or tearing yourself apart.