I thought I loved you,
until I remembered how you decided
tearing me apart was okay
the second after you realized that I was blind
to your bad intentions.
I only ever used the word "yes"
as a mask.
A mask to cover up the "no's"
hidden in fear of actions they knew you'd take
if they chose to slip out of my mouth
and believe me,
they desperately wanted to.
But a mask could never save me
from your filthy tongue,
the words you'd scream,
the sharpness of them all,
And the way they slid across my veins.
You always left me alone to bleed.
You never cared enough to cauterize them.
All you've ever cared about is yourself.
Your words were the smoke
filling my lungs.
Filling them so much
that I wouldn't have been shocked
if my ribs shattered underneath my skin.
You didn't bother to clean up the tar you left behind,
my lungs are still black.
One night you slammed the brakes
just to shove me out of your car
at midnight in the middle of winter.
You didn't care.
I cried for awhile.
I never thought that I would forget
the color of the lies hidden behind your eyes
or the thorns spread across your body,
your toxicity,
Until a new set of headlights appeared,
everything became clear.
With a new hope,
again, I rose.
The snow began to dry,
and again the sun rose.
I shoved the leftover snow off my clothes,
and the tears off my face.
The second I sat down in the passenger seat
next to him,
my scarring arms,
smoke filled lungs,
and broken promises
started to heal.
I only thought I loved you,
but I know I love him.
