I thought it was love—
but it wasn't.
It was poison, seeping into my veins,
an unwretched warning echoing in my soul.

A red flag draped in green,
but I was colorblind,
never saw the signs,
never heard the silent screams.

It lingered, whispered, wrapped around me,
a pill too bitter to swallow.

There was a gun,
hidden atop my father’s cabinet.
I craved pain—but just enough,
a wound to prove the suffering was real.

Because pain is valid.
Because pain is vain.