It stings
and it burns.
But I enjoy the hurt.
Pain rolls of my cheeks,
and on to the sheets.
I fall to the ground;
your words were meant to hurt,
and it worked.
I sob and cry,
“No! He wasn’t supposed to go!”
These scars on my arms
are there to remind me
of who you really are.
No one has driven me to
self destruction.
But we both know you’re the best,
at corruption.
I didn’t want to feel the hurt,
so I chose the burn.
When I didn’t want to feel at all,
I sat on my couch and watched me touch my arm,
where I caused self harm.
Love doesn’t hurt, it never has.
Remember,
it’s the words that burn.