His kisses are the stains of black and blue that decorate my pale skin, like proclamations of affection shouted into the void, they forever float, a reminder of our romance a reminder that

He loves me

He holds my hand with words, a string of promises that wrap around my finger and tie me to him, a spiral of altercations which flood my every thought. I’m not good enough for him but

He loves me

He brings me flowers when the scars begin to heal. He holds me tight, desperate not to let his possession manage the strength to fly away. He adores me with gentle hands, over the wounds spawned from those very fingers. He makes me feel beautiful and I know

He loves me

He protects me with truth, standing as my palisade, his heart is my sanity. His shouts derive from adulation. His anger sooths me because it means

He loves me

His essence envelops my essence. He guides me, he cares for me, and I heal him. I extinguish the fire blazing in his retina as the flame finds its way to my flesh. His violence is fading. He fights his inner demons because

He loves me

But my sheets are dotted with tear stains, my body aches when I reach for him. I long for the days when his dimples illuminate his face, and dread those of clenched fists and the wrinkles of a scowl. I need his adoration but sometimes

He hurts me

I pull down my sleeves to harbor the contusions that dance around my limbs like love songs that whirl with desire. I tug on the clothes that he suits appropriate, as what lies underneath is his custody. Conscious about my frame as the scintillas of anamnesis shine down from when he joked about my figure. I realize that

He hurts me

I am his, he is the master and I am slave to his desires. I have nothing except him. His existence is evident in every aspect of my life. He says we will be together forever. He is perfect but perfection is an illusion because

He hurts me

I fell in love fast and furious. With engines gunned I was anxious to feel the rev of a heartbeat laden with love. Love, so foreign, so exciting came crashing in. Love, the talk of novels and movies had fooled me. I love him but

He hurts me

I can’t escape. This feeling in my heart weighs me down and chains me to him with ligatures I composed. Each time his smile makes my heart flutter the link fortifies. Each time his fist connects the bond becomes infrangible. I become further and further attached each time

He hurts me

I’ve isolated myself from anything that is not him. His love is that of passion, a raging inferno of greed and power. I stay in silence, ignoring the violence, but in whispered cries I scream

He loves me.