in a world where everything means something,
is a world where nothing means nothing.
i was young and ignorant and my
heart was tired of being broken.
of course everything meant something,
especially when youth has a tendency
to place all your sweet moments on
pedestals, to then confine them in a
treasure chest until the next person
finds the key to destroy
everything all over again.
i thought i was different, i thought
he was different, but i'd be buried
bones like the rest of them.
sometimes i wonder if it was his
deceptive charm that pulled me
in, or if it was all part of a more
sophisticated strategy, one i wasn't
keen or aware enough to fathom.
he was good at that, pulling me in
and roping me onto a string like
a prim and pretty marionette
he could play with.
sometimes i wonder if it all mattered,
if i mattered at all. it always ended
the same: one hand tugging on my
hair, pulling my head back to
take an open-mouthed kiss, with the
other caressing my neck, and my
body pressed against a brick wall
in a dark alleyway. i-love-you's came
as easily as i was hopelessly devoted
to his empty promises.
i readily tore myself apart for him,
wondering where i’d abandoned my
fears and doubts. blindly yet intently
conscious of the blood boiling and
rushing to the surface of my skin,
with the kind of heat that can only
be ignited between two frigid
bodies. i was reluctant yet stirred by
something toxic that fueled me higher
than any drug could. this was far from
love. if it was, i knew it would decay.
and i was always fine with the skeletons
in his closet until i became one of them.