Untitled
Tatti Williams
Does he care?
I've always asked myself this. My bleeding heart in my hand, stitches hold this deep cut at bay for the the moment. Hands close to my chest, hoping, pushing it back through the hole that he dug when he left.
Did he love me?
Of course he did! Lies told to myself to feel loved. Lies that quell the burning sensation of his pounding words. Running back to him, like nothing ever happened. Stupid. Stupidly in love with the monster that left me there to die, as he walks around with my heart and love on a keychain.
Am I done?
Yes, I am. I'm done. A story I tell, standing there, consuming his hurtful lies. He wraps his worthless, beautiful love around my brain, his cheating kisses on my lips. I still take it in. I lay in my bed, lifeless, wishing I was strong enough to move, but instead resign myself to lay there one more night and cry.