  Hit me, slap me and call me Edna. Thats how weak I am around you, shitfaced and fucked. You attack, as if your words would pierce through this thick skull of mind and hurt it, it doesnt. It only stabs through my heart and fucks with my emotions. I dont remember why I let you do this, only that when I am vulnerable, you are never there. and you wonder why I dont come close anymore. You give me no reason to. No reason to stay, no reason to try, no reason to like myself around you.
Thats always kinda hard when your favorite game is to tear me into pieces and watch my flesh slowly be made into jerky. Wringed, dried, processed and slowly wilted away. Preserved in some sordid state, scrunched up consumed with guilt. Valentines day makes it about a million times worst. It makes me think of past lovers and before the words are even out of my mouth I see your condescending bastard attitude that labels me again. Its funny how I almost swear you are so uncannily right sometimes, that when you choose to be an asshole, there is almost a perverse pleasure in playing your game. Lets see who breaks down this time. Lets see who pushes the other over the cliff. Lets see what great things we can hurt each other and accuse the fuck out of each other.
Its become a sink or swim situation. quite literally too. You sink as you fight to get back up to shore or drown which in case means youre fucked anyway or you bloody stand up and hold your ground only to swim in your tears. Cant win anyway. Its not a game damnit. Yet it doesnt hurt as much when you call me names anymore. Whore, slut, bitch, fucked upI run through the list and theyre starting to just become words to me.
Instead of weapons you used to hold against me, instead of missiles you use to aim straight at me. Being in a warzone, a crossfire. Why am I so used to that? Its almost a here we go again dejavu like existence. I wait for the day when you will truly know what it has been like. What it was. When your blindness doesnt cloud your judgment anymore and you learn that attacking is not always the best answer.
And I would know considering Ive done all that before, attacked, yelled, screamed, bitched, realizedand here I am again. And again. And again. I am tired now. Id like to go to bed. Tell your demons in my head to shut up. Tell the gnomes playing trickery in my heart to die. Tell your voice that pounds my mind to fuck off. Tell your empty words and lies to take flight. Tell my sorry self to disappear again. I have no personality around you.
No name, no face, no heart. I am merely just the girl that torments you and fucks you up. I'll break it down for you; youve left every other time and wonder why I wont trust you. Wonder why I am horrid around you yet I can be so lovable, so wonderful around other relationships. Why do I not treat you like the rest of them? Why do I actually give a fuck time and again? Ive shown you my soul, and youve raped it again, and again, and again. Yet here I am, bearing soul when the only thing you want is flesh. You dont understand me. You dont know me. You use hatred as an excuse. Too cowardly to admit that I am something and I am far beyond anything you imagined. I am unclean, dirty and sick but at least I have passion, have heart and even still my soul. You think Ive sold it to the devil. Well think again, because no matter how short my life turns out to be, youll always have to live with turning your back on love.
You had it once, twice, forever but youll never have my soul. I dont trust you. You will probably end up scarring yourself further by attempting to bring me down again. You claim you don't give a fuck but really, at least I'll admit it. I hate feeling the way I feel about myself around you. Poison, you are like deadly nectar to my system. I swear I can almost taste it now. Take flight before we hurt ourselves some more. Walk. Please don't return. Leave. I almost don't care if it hurts. 
