He said I was his muse; I'm beautiful to him.
He wrote songs about me.
"Your wings fly higher than anyone else's"

I was his prized possession.
However,  in time, I learned that with possession.. came obsession.
"I don't agree." he'd say.
"You can't do that.." he urged.
"******* quit. Now!" he commanded.

The first hit was the worst. I remember the bruise vividly.
It was purple, and I craved for more.
I didn't want to believe it was abuse.

My shoulders began to slump, and the bruises were getting harder to hide.
I felt his fists slam into me over and over again.
I didn't leave.

I watched my lips, knuckles, and nose bleed for you;
I let my skin bruise for you.
You fed me so many lied, and it only made me more hungry.

They think I'm ****** up because of you..
"You only crave pain, because you're repressing your memory of...him."

I found my wings on your side of the bed. I found my box of letter under it. I found my heart in your hands, and my pride in your smile.