Why do I keep trying?
Why do I reach out, already knowing I’ll be met with bared teeth and sharpened claws?
I am a naïve child,
stretching my arm into the mouth of a rabid, hostile creature,
hoping somehow,
that this time it won’t bite.
Hoping I won’t be met with more hurt than I can carry.
Every time I reach, I am bitten.
Bruised.
Clawed.
And still, I go back.
Why?
Is it instinct? something wired deep inside of me that I can't unlearn?
Is it naïveté, the quiet belief that love might soften her eventually?
Is it love itself, stubborn and self-sacrificing, refusing to die even when it’s starving?
Left to rot away, skin and bones, bleeding out.
Is it manipulation? Something I fell for years ago not realizing she gains pleasure from the blood she spills?
I don’t know.
All I know is that I keep reaching for her,
even when my hands are empty and covered in my own blood,
even when there’s nothing left of me to give, nothing left for her to take
even when I already know how it goes.
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 5:56 PM UTC
Why do I keep trying?
Why do I reach out, already knowing I’ll be met with bared teeth and sharpened claws?
I am a naïve child,
stretching my arm into the mouth of a rabid, hostile creature,
hoping somehow,
that this time it won’t bite.
Hoping I won’t be met with more hurt than I can carry.
Every time I reach, I am bitten.
Bruised.
Clawed.
And still, I go back.
Why?
Is it instinct? something wired deep inside of me that I can't unlearn?
Is it naïveté, the quiet belief that love might soften her eventually?
Is it love itself, stubborn and self-sacrificing, refusing to die even when it’s starving?
Left to rot away, skin and bones, bleeding out.
Is it manipulation? Something I fell for years ago not realizing she gains pleasure from the blood she spills?
I don’t know.
All I know is that I keep reaching for her,
even when my hands are empty and covered in my own blood,
even when there’s nothing left of me to give, nothing left for her to take
even when I already know how it goes.
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