We got into a fight again, I guess

you can say that’s just the same thing
we’ve been doing in the last nine
months since we broke up and the
six months we were together.

‘Love at first sight!’
What, is that a joke? Because
when I’m covered in blood and
all he can do is try to f*** me
it sure as hell doesn’t
feel like love.

We were toxic, we got off on the
hatred, on the bloodlust, on the
tears we forced on each other
as we whipped the other’s back.
He told me he was unappreciated,
I told him I was unloved.

I proposed to him on a January night
where the winter burned my skin and
all I could do was hold him close
for some kind of warmth he never seemed
to provide me. “I love you,”
I whispered with certainty. Because
certainly if I could go through all this
pain for him, certainly
I loved him,
did I not?

We screamed at each other
that our love was more powerful
than any other, we screamed
at each other, that our hatred was so
overpowering, and as our echoes
turned to whispers
all I could hear in the
dead of night was his footsteps,
walking away, driving away
from everything I am.

“Darling, darling boy,
I wish to hear you breathing
next to me, your hand touching mine
as you brush the hair away from my face
to tell me how in love you are
with the color of my eyes.”