The burning slap of betrayal
Lingers on my heart,
Like his gentle hands on my lips.
Their delicate grace chasing away the troubles of my mind
And seducing me into blissful abandon.

One moment I am his,
The next I am left with nothing but the sickly sweet memories of tormenting abusive love.
Leaving nothing behind but the questions;
Am I his?
Am I mine?

Those around me stand as blurred edged silhouettes
On the boundaries of my despair.
Offering hope with outstretched hands and loving words.
The safe relaxation of their comfort seemingly
Untarnished and entirely mine.
The cracks of my soul begin to become beckons of light
Of a life lived and loved.

Until unexpectedly the shadow of those beautifully delicate hands that once were mine begin their torment -
As I realize that nothing is mine,
But his.

I am nothing but a flawed and fragile being.
Tainted by the actions of others -
Discarded to the boarders of lives unaffected by destructive hands.

Is it really better to have loved?