His grip on my hand hardened, but what he doesn’t know
is that I cannot feel the pressure on my hand,
but around my throat, cutting off
every breath I take, blurring my vision
until I submit to the darkness.
They always warn you about the same kind of hurting;
about abuse of both the mind and the body, but
they never warn you about the violence of the soul
and it can so easily be shattered into
a million pieces. How is it even possible,
to love with such passion but be left
completely and utterly broken?
You never find the expiration date
until it’s too late. You never think of the end,
you only know the beginning, the present, the forever.
Once discovered, it forever remains spoiled
like last month’s milk, and no matter
how much sugar you add, it will never
taste sweet like it used to.
So you let it go, throw it
away, and then the violence
of the soul hits you harder than anything; harder
than the belt that belonged to your father;
harder than the fragile snapping
of your bones at just age two; and harder
than that silver, rusted knife to your pure, blue wrist
Harder than anything experienced before.