I screamed at the moon, just sat there and slang miscellaneous profanities its way. I cursed its eerie presence; its predisposition to somehow manage to burn me. It has always held me liable for its slow deterioration. But it is so **** beautiful and poetic that it just shhhh'd me, ever so politely. I used to breathe alongside the night in my sleep, and now I find it strenuous to doze off. I once found solace in the craters of the moon, but I cannot forgive it.

I became accustomed to screams and bruises. I got used to the crazed look in my father's eyes and the way his hands would shake, causing his cigarette to fall to the dirt ridden floor. I fell in love with the way he would smile as he reached for the bottle. I didn't understand. I cowered in my room at night as I heard the splitting sounds of bats, shovels, and irons hitting various surfaces and body parts. I listened to Alanis Morisette to drown out the grunts and moans that arrived when the fights ended, and they 'loved' each other again.

I'm going to fill my body with soil and snake venom, the way it should be. I'm going to run into the ground as hell's unbreakable grasp ***** me under like a leech. I will go willingly and proud, with a dazzling smirk and thorns around my ankles.

I am the tremble in your voice as you let the first tear fall. I am the vacancy in your state when the voices won't leave you be. I am the lurid marks beneath your eyes, formed by sleep deprivation. I am the heavy pant that escapes your lungs when your shirt is drenched in salt. You are the sliver of light that slips through the cracks of my body. You are the ecstasy that I feel while singing songs of you. You are the slight comfort that comes when I drift into slumber. You are the pigment in my tortured eyes. The best parts of me belong to you, but I am the worst part of you. I am still baffled by how I managed to corrupt you, you shouldn't have let me in.

What am I? I am just a body made up of various parts. I have eyes, a nose, and a mouth like the majority of us. I have two legs for kicking and two arms for holding. When I take the time to dissect the universe, I realize just how small and irrelevant I am. The tree have a purpose, as does the water. Even the ******* bees have a purpose. Do I have a purpose? If so, what is my purpose? To please others? To love someone with all that I have? Well I don't have a **** thing and everything that crosses my path somehow, metaphorically, turns to dirt. I cannot fulfill my 'purpose'. So, I'll ask once more. What am I? I am a carcass with a heartbeat. In the scheme of the universe, I am completely useless. And that, that means that I am nothing. Nothing at all.

Take over my mind and caress my body, make me question what I know. Run your hands through my hair and pull, take my breath away. Wrap your hands around my throat. Let your fingers trace and explore the atlas that is my body. Grasp my hands and hold them above my head, shove me against the wall. Hold me there with your tongue and hips. Bite my lip, kiss my neck with everything you have. Don't stop until I'm begging. Enter my body and make me quiver and shake. I want to feel every inch of your skin on mine. I want you to make me feel something again.

I'm at a loss for words here. I mean, five months back you were calling me baby and I was telling you that I loved you. Two months back, you shattered me. It's funny though because the night you let me go was the first time that I ever felt alive. The pain I felt as you violently tore yourself away from me was the perfect reminder that I am not numb to all things, no matter how hard I try to be. Now here we are in the present, ******* like we're lovers and talking like best friends. You're starting to call me baby again, and it scares me because every time you do, I almost want to tell you that I love you. But I'm trying my best to hold it in and not make the same mistake twice. Oh god, I swear every time you're inside of me, all I want to do is scream, and sometimes I do. Moans of pleasure, moans of pain. Almost inaudible moans that sound a lot like 'I love you'.

As cliché and dumb as this may sound, you made me stronger. You taught me that no matter how much time and effort you put into a friendship or relationship with someone, they will eventually leave. The promises and pleas become part of your past. You were toxic; a manipulative *******. You were a pathological liar, a pretender, an actor, a game-playing *******. The fact that I relied on you and put most (all) of my faith into you makes me sick. It's unhealthy and I won't lie, it damaged me in ways that I'll feel forever. But it also helped me. I used to think that I'd never be okay if I didn't have you to rely on. But, these past few months I've realized that you can't count on anyone. The people that wiped your tears, patted your back, and scared the monsters away become the reason for the scars on your wrist. I hate that I let you do that to me. I was blinded and as a result, I have a few scars that will always remind me of you. You are toxic; a manipulative *******. You are a patholical liar, a pretender, an actor, a game-playing *******. You're sick, but who isn't? That's no excuse. You are an excuse-maker as well. You're a good for nothing loser. But, you were good to me in the beginning. I was broken, and you nursed me back to health. So thank you, and *******. ******* so much.