If my inner death could ever surface
You would see how ruined of a being I would stand before you
You would notice the way I am covered in wounds that are still bleeding, in bruises and scratches, in ache and sorrow
Like a ghost of a living one, I would keep looking at you like I always have
But even then you would still pick a rock and throw it at me
' I can't stand to look at you like this!'
' I want the best for you! Why are you so unhappy '
'Why can't you do better for yourself?'
'Why are you always such a disappointment?'
You say you speak out of love, you hurt by seeing me in pain, yet you add cuts, you throw rocks, you lay the blame on me with every gaze you throw, every word that escapes your lips.

You make me guilty of being broken. You put fault at me for being dead. You make me think of love as cruel. For all it's doing is mercilessly tear me apart. Taking my breath away.

You want me to live so badly, you say as your hands are tighten around my neck. You speak of love, act on love, but I shatter the more you try to love me.

It hurts.

If this is the only way I can be loved.
I think I don't want it .
If this is love... I might as well call it death.