Sometimes your arms feel like home,
They hold me tight, your hands
Stroking the back of my head,
Reassuring me that, yes,
I am okay and, yes,
Everything will be okay
Because you are here,
So there's nothing to fear,
And I couldn't possibly feel safer.
But sometimes your arms feel like a cage.
There's just enough air for me to breathe,
But I am trapped in your fierce, unwanted grip.

I'm sorry that I don't feel like sharing a bed
After I told you I was depressed and you
Told me to stop freaking out and calling you.
I'm sorry that your words hit me like a tidal wave
And brought me to the bathroom
With a knife in my hand.
I'm sorry that one, two, three, four cuts later,
I was bleeding out on the floor,
Practically unconscious, but awake enough
To see the growing pool of red.
You're sorry I resorted to harming myself.
I'm sorry that I didn't finish the job.

I grew up thinking that love, only love,
Could save me from myself, but maybe I was wrong.
Maybe love is the thing I need to be saved from.
Maybe love is the real monster here.
Every story has a villain.
I just never imagined that you'd be mine.