Touch

I wake. Every night at the same time.

I feel your touch upon my arm, but it isn’t a soft one.

It remains

Your voice echos like nails on a chalkboard

Calling unto me that I am not worthy of a man like you.

I know it to be true. I am not worthy.

For my birthday, you give me a new mirror of self reflection and through this mirror I see myself differently.

I am broken. And you are the king of the wreckage

You are the one standing upon my remains as if you have discovered eon old treasure.

On my chest there are words etched into my skin with blood,

But you are too engulfed in your own self pity to teach yourself to read

And the mirror I am gazing upon myself in is too broken for me to interpret the foreign language

The hands.

They still remain

They’ve moved and now are growing tighter around my neck so that I can no longer breathe.

All I see are your brown eyes

The flakes of gold within them twinkling like candle fire and all I can smell is some gasoline.

If you leave me I will kill myself you say.

Because without you I am nothing you say.

Your body is mine to hold for eternities you say

You aren’t as beautiful as you used to be you say.

You are worthless. You say.

You do not deserve me you say.

I am sorry you say.

And through the tears and lack of oxygen I find myself gazing into the mirror given to me for my birthday

Finally I can see the words clearly

The bruises you’ve left upon my body all come together to spell out that my body is not yours to touch.

I am not yours to touch.

I was never once yours to touch.