She always told me she didn't care,
I didn't believe her, she was always so fair.
Despite her dark heart,
I think she loved me,
I wasn't ready then,
so she left and found another.
But when I needed her, there she was,
attempting to fill the
that reached to the edges of my shell.
But that in itself creates its own new hell.
Behind closed doors in the drunken dark,
She slaps me, calls me slut, and
sticks fingers down my throat.
Some twisted part of me enjoys it,
because loneliness is colder than the way she treats me in the dark.