The first time you told me you loved me,
I was 16.
The first time we ever fought,
I was 18.
The first time you ever punched me,
I was 19.
The last time you ever abused me,
I was 20.
By the time I realized that you were no good for me,
I was 22.

You're like a rose. So beautiful, but oh so painfully hurtful. I never knew that a smile and a kiss could put me under a spell. A spell that would blind me from the pain that would be inflicted onto me.


I had always known that you were bad news,
but I kept coming back for more.
I was slowly decaying into
something I wasn't.


After a while,
I was comatose.
Alive but unconscious.