Copyright, sLAvE

I thought he loved me, I thought he cared. He taught me, made me believe I had to learn. I had to finish what he’d started, the guilt and regret flooding back through me, I had to be punished. I’d slice over and over, deeper and deeper. Everything slowly leaving, all the hurt draining away, feeling as if nothing exists anymore but this. But it wasn’t enough, I could cause so much pain to others, why not to myself? They always wondered why I’d keep you, why I let you do this to me. But I knew.

Here’s something I wrote a little while ago. I know it may not make much sense.

We both know how to hurt me, but you know best, you always did. Your words cut me deeper than the blade ever could, slicing straight through me; if I hurt myself more than you do, then I kid myself you are weak and I am stronger. I tell myself that I can cause more pain than you can, but you always knew, you tell me how he beats you, how he neglects and belittles you, suddenly I find the reason. I am your release as well as my own. I remember how it felt, the physical pain you inflict is somehow easier to take, I love you, you know that I will not leave you.

As you physically punish me, as I bleed underneath and the marks appear, I realise that if you hurt me, then I don’t need to hurt myself. You are my tool as I am yours, feeding off each other’s misery and hurt.

You push further back into the cold hard brick, your eyes wild and unseeing, each blow harder and quicker than the last. As you escape intoxicated, I try to shut you out, pretend this isn’t happening. But as it comes back, harder and harder, violently biting into my flesh, I realise this is how it’s always going to be. All I’ve ever wanted is to matter to you; but every time you pulled me close it was a lie. I’d feel so safe in your arms, your hands on me; the very hands that mark and bruise my skin. I run my hands over your pale and perfect face; the very hands that cut and slice and scar me.

We both escape ourselves through me, both abusing this body that I suddenly realize is mine as I feel the burning and the running of my blood.

I look in the mirror to admire the blue and purple badges you’ve given me to wear, I remember how you laughed as inside I cried, but I need you, I see the way you hurt yourself and another part of me dies. I just want to protect us both from the pain we recieve at your hands.

I wish things were different.


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