those three words you have repeated time after time again

those three words, the same, meant differently each time.



I love you.



I love you, don’t be mad.

I love you, please stay.

I love you, let’s ****.

I love you, it’s not personal.

I love you, but no.



don’t tell me that you love me,

how dare you take that weapon into my back

as I tried to walk away.

anchors cast around my ankles

that were striding towards liberation.

don’t tell me that you love me

as we walked down the streets of downtown

after a month of silence in which I thought I had lost you.

but the way that your eyes smiled

when I echoed those words back,

it was a trap I couldn’t help but to fall into.

don’t tell me that you love me

when silence was on your end

after I drove 78 miles to see you.

later I came to learn that you were

getting high with your buddy Anthony.

don’t tell me that you love me

when you’ll never love anything more

than that chemical you inject into your body.

don’t tell me that you love me

and then go **** the girl

that had your heart before me.

you brought her into the relationship

from the very start,

an unintended *******.

don’t tell me that you love me

and not hold me in the night,

turning your back, yet again

keeping me on the outside.

don’t tell me that you love me

just to drag me back in.

don’t tell me that you love me

when you made sure to destroy

every ounce of self respect I had.



don’t tell me that you love me.