Empty Words and Open Wounds

I want to tell you this so maybe you can find it hidden in the back of your mind the next time you find yourself crawling into bed with someone else. The next time you’re looking into someone else’s brown eyes that match your own so perfectly. The next time you call her baby. The next time you sink your nails deep into her skin, not for her pleasure, but for the pleasure you received from drawing blood.

See that’s all you ever cared about, right? The satisfaction you got from the pain you inflicted on others? You’d shoot your shot over and over. You’d wait until they were at their weakest and you’d go for the jugular. You’d watch them weep and shake in the mercy of your hands and you’d turn on your heels and walk away in search of the next girl who you’d let make their home in you for a little while.

But that’s the thing - it only ever lasted a little while. The physical parts at least. The mental aspect is a whole different story.

And that’s how it was for me. A stupid young girl following her heart and leaving logic behind. Falling asleep tangled in your naked limbs, air conditioner blasting and your warm breathing on my neck.

We’d fall into bed together, night after night, and with our lips on each other’s skin, we’d feast on pleasure. On yearning. On the feeling that we both wanted to devour one another, yet only one of us wanted it to turn into something more.

And I’d find myself in this position over and over. Laying in bed with you after your mouth had explored every inch of my body - the body that you knew so well. You’d let your eyes flutter shut, allowing your mind to drift off into sleep, and pull me close into you, but all I ever welcomed at night was the saltiness of my tears dripping down my cheeks and through the crack in my lips.

See, fucking me wasn’t enough. You had to make me fall for you too. You had to say the right things at the right time and watch me slowly empty myself of any self-control I had ever once possessed. You had to call me baby and make me come undone at those words. You had to tell me you loved me and make me believe it.

And fuck you for making me believe it.

See what I want to tell you is that I knew I always loved you more. Even when I knew my wounds wouldn’t have time to fully heal before you’d open them up again. Even when I knew the words you’d whisper softly onto my skin while you tore into me were the same words you were telling her when I wasn’t around.

I’d picture you on top of her, allowing the same words you’d seduce me with slowly escape your soft lips. Those lips that I’d drown in time and time again and never quite find my way back up to the surface to escape. Those same lips that I’d fall victim to time and time again.

But see what I’ve come to realize after all this time? It wasn’t only you who enjoyed the pain. I got caught in your undertow. They say the more time you spend with someone the higher chance you have of taking on each other’s mannerisms, and I was mimicking you to a tee.

You showed me how sweet pain tasted, how to get off on it.

And while I was learning how to make someone fall for my every word only to tear them apart in the end, the pain I was inflicting was directed towards myself.

See that’s how good you were. You taught me how to play your game, but you were always better at it. I should have never expected to beat someone at their own craft. I should have left my wounds open and allowed myself to bleed out. Accept the damage you had caused and save my heart from succumbing to your pain one last time.

But there is no “one last time” with me and you. The thing is, I’d have to bleed my veins dry to rid myself of every last trace of you. So as long as I keep patching up my wounds you can continue slicing me with your blade and I’ll talk myself into pretending that you still love me and that I never was the one who loved more.

And I don’t think my words are still worth it to you, that you’d take the time out of the day to listen to me rip my heart out for a love that was never real, but on the off chance that you picture my eyes while you’re laying down to fall asleep, just know that I’d still be here waiting for you, sitting on my knees with wounds partially healed.