The terrifying thing is;
Sometimes when people tell you they love you,
They mean it.
They mean those words with every fiber of their body,
And you don't know whether it hurts worse to love or to be loved.
But what you do know is that.
When someone tells you they love you,
Without any love in their voice,
With favours to ask,
And words that burn their way onto your skin like hellfire,
And questions and lies that cut into your heart like ice shards and knives.
You know that they keep you only for your adoration,
that you will remain nothing more than an insignificant rock that orbits around them like they are the sun and the stars,
that your love for them is the only love between you two.
And you know that,
When someone loves you,
You, poisonous and tainted and wrong and weak,
You should be thankful that someone would ever put up with all the dreary despair and self-loathing that clings to you like a parasite and never let's go,
But, when they speak of love and only ever seem to hurt you with that love, it hurts.
And chips away at what little is left of you.
And you are a lone rock at sea,
A storm raging around you and withering you down until you are nothing.
Because being loved hurts just as much as loving can.
And all you really want is for someone to hold you and show you that you aren’t what you think you are.
But you know you don’t deserve that.
Wretched creature that you are,
Otherwise, why would you only be able to be used and hurt by people who say they love you?
Occam’s Razor they say.
The simplest answer is often the correct one.
There is something unlovable and corrupting in you,
And it sinks, like poison, like death, into those around you.
And you are, and forever will be,