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Love is a prison.

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Disoriented as he grabs my hand,
disgusted when my goosbumps grace his warmth,
tired of pretending,
exhusted of wanting,
this misery to end.
Confused,
Bewilldered,
of what is wrong with me.
Should feel,
should want,
should do anything for,
my love.
This fake,
suffocating,
significant other.
He loves me,
cares for me,
would die for me,
but for me to die,
would release me from this love enduced prison.




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