Verbal punches that you threw shattered my emotions like the front of your combat boot kicking me in the face, breaking my teeth. But just like the thrill of the pain I come back for more; enjoying every single time you lash me with harsh words, scarring my mind like the blades I'll use later on across my wrist. When you gasp for breath, exhausted from yelling at me for my small flaws, it feels like there's a tight grip around my neck, strangling me until my color changes, letting go only when I'm about to pass out. You never physically laid a hand on me but our small fights felt like you were ripping chunks of my hair out and punching me in the gut. Our last fight felt like you pushed me down a flight of steep stairs, laughing as I tumble down to my death, snapping my neck once I'm most of the way to the bottom.
But as my corpse hits the wooden floor you walk down the stairs slowly and hold my limp body and lay a soft kiss on my cold skin. A tear slips down your freckled face and lands on me but this isn't a fairytale. I don't come back to life. You can't revive me. More tears land on my corpse but the sadness turns to anger. Even though I'm dead you hit my corpse, adding more sickly discoloration to my frail form.
But in reality you still use me as your punching bag, not able to tell that I've had enough. Im curled in a ball in a corner crying and shaking, mentally breaking down while you scream at me, telling me how gross and fucking worthless I am. I don't have enough courage to fight back or even tell you to stop because even though you're toxic I don't want to risk losing you because I still hold the good times close to me.
Our love is deadly but I wouldn't want it any other way.
