Shackled, and chained.
Yet,
I’ve never felt so free.
You’ve awakened this primal instinct in me.

Burned, and bruised.
Tormented, and used.
I'm yours to abuse.

I kneel,
At your feet,
Waiting for command.
Waiting for the slightest gesture granted from your hand.

I look down.
My hands in lap.
l am at your will,
Waiting for your finger’s snap.

With hair pulled back--
Gathered in your hands.

And cheeks warm--
Caressed by your voice.

Lips are wet--
Touched by yours.

Cleaning, and cooking.
Almost every day.
Folding, and preparing.
Doing whatever you say.

I'm yours;
I'm branded with your name.
I'm bonded to you,
No matter what,
And I stand unashamed.

I'M stuck between "i really want to talk to you" vs "I really need to get over you."

You said my pain was so poetic,
And I was cutting myself to the bone,
Squeezing the blood on the pages so you could hear me,
Nothing about my suffering is poetic,
Screaming into my sheets and trying to claw memories out of my chest,
Burning myself and forcing me to remember things I’d rather forget,
Breaking down crying and begging to be laid to rest,
You called me a beautiful tragedy,
But I believe you can only have beauty,
Or tragedy,
And I am the latter.

I regret everything
All mistakes and wrong things
I've done

I wish I could go back
in time
Erase all ugly memories