In my embrace, I’ll hold you tight.

 

Snug and warm, I watch you sleep.

 

My arm turns numb where you lay your head.

 

I can’t feel my hand anymore either.

 

But that’s fine because you’re so fast asleep.

 

Precious and sweet, a moment I want to cherish.

 

So I won’t move.

 

Even as minutes turn into hours, I won’t wake you.

 

I hold you close, to remind you of my love.

 

.

.

.

 

Eventually, you’ll wake, and you’ll leave.

 

When I try to take you in my arms again,

 

You hiss.

You growl.

You bite.

 

Does the sting of the scratch of my arm compare to the shot in my heart?

 

My arm bleeds while my heart does not, but does that make it any less painful?

 

The only proof of this betrayal.

 

Where you once lay your head, a scratch remains.