Bruising

Low and disgusted,
I leave you sitting in the dark, lonely, still room where only the pouring rain is heard.
Cleansing isn’t it? Not quite.
Your manly hands wrapped around my neck depleting the life force from my fragile body sprouts Christmas trees of hate within my loving heart.
You nourish its growth with slaps in the face, bondage, and worse of all, your words.
I hate you. No, I hate myself for loving you.
Such nonsense, why do I stay? My nails pierce your skin until blood seeps through.
I hurt you. No, I hurt myself for hurting you.
There is silence.
Nothing but the refreshing rain that seems not to cleanse a bit of this torment that now lay dormant in this home.
My heart aches, but it’s used to it.
My mind is weary, my being exhausted of being hurt.
I hate you. No, I hate myself for loving you.
I wonder if it’d stop…?
I guess you can compare it to the rain. Sometimes so strong you can’t leave the house. Then suddenly-nothing. You think it’s safe but here it is, back again, spontaneous in its nature.
Will we ever be? Can this ever be? Should it?
We occupy separate rooms and think of the misery we lay in.
I wish I could close my eyes tightly, pray, and wake up to concrete happiness.
With you…?
It’s so sad, but true.