Because when you held my hand and said I was pretty I thought I loved you,
and when you kissed my neck and spread my young legs I thought I loved you,
but when I told the nurse that I had fallen down the stairs a third time, I realized I didn't love you.
I just thought I did, like I thought I loved history class when i really preferred science.
and you, you thought you loved me but really you loved the way I withered underneath you.
because finally someone other then you, was begging for mercy.