I don’t say goodnight

August 2, 2012 § 6 Comments

I don’t say goodnight.
I used to.
Why won’t you understand
that when you pick on me,
my happiness goes?
Without happiness there is nothing to say.

I never play games.
I tell you straight out that you are
speaking too harshly,
picking on me,
hurting my feelings.
I say so gently.
Why don’t you hear me?

You poke me and stab me.
You are a devil with a tongue for a pointed stick.
I start crying
and crying
and crying
curled into myself.
You start laughing.

You stab me until I bleed
and bleed
and bleed.
I’ve bled out, but am still alive.
I lie there stricken for you to hurt me.
My strength of life is a curse to me.

I want to break something.
I want to break you.
How dare you do this to me?
I don’t know how to stop you!
I want your flesh to tear and blood to fly.
Why should I be the only one in pain?

I want to hurt you.
But that hurts me.

So when you pick a fight,
I disappear.

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