Every time I'd thought you would be different. Every time I'd hoped that I would finally be good enough. But every time it ended the same: with your knife coated in my blood, forcing me to relive the pain with every beat of my heart. And you made certain that my heart would still beat once you left as a constant reminder that I am nothing to you.
I nurse my wounds, but as long as my heart continues beating, my love will be given until boys like you again grind it into the dirt with your feet.
I am tired of being ceaselessly shit on by you careless little boys, and I hope that I will learn from my mistakes.
There is a very real difference between boys and men, but they're all eating me alive.
// "Help I'm Alive" by Metric //
YOU ARE READING
Speculations of an Artistic Mind: Jane's Thoughts
Non-FictionEveryone has thoughts. These ones are mine.
