Heals

I used to hate walking in heels,

but the pain of a 6 inch spike pertruding from my heel in comparison too a 6 inch blade to the heart makes it more appealing.

I can walk in pain,
but fall in broken..

Tripping over my own two feet is a talent I hold dear to my sanity,

he was clumsy with his hands,
I was eager with my perceptions...
I was lost in his eyes,
they clouded the deceptions.

I have curves but not enough to render him honest,
enough to fill his hands,
but not too keep his eye.

I was fine with my imperfections when he knocked on my door to take my hand to bed.

He told me he was alive when he held me in the darkness,
the stars agreed and I believed...

them...him...

I dabbled in losing self control when he whispered calling me his in all those moments.

I can't believe that the sun forgot to rise again,
can't believe the way his teeth bare into my sanity awakening the very demons he silenced to grind my mind to shreds.

Lies are locked and loaded in my life, peasants fear loosing a queen knowing they are undeserving.

They fumble with your buttons in a sad attempt to strip us of ourselves.

I loved myself at my worst,
my worst is not easily handled,
slips many a hands.

His were no exception,

Perhaps i ran from them heals in hand,

Perchance my runaway nature tore me from the need of him.

Perhap he was a 6 inch spike in my heel carrying me away from tripping over him.

Perchance he aimed to sabotage my pain before it bled,
but only insured it instead.

Its 2am,
I'm in his bed,
hes in my head
and yet....
we are far apart from holding eachother and the stars in our arms.

My feet don't hurt,
my heart makes up for that...
funny the inevitability of pain whether we love or run.

I have found that me and silence are not friends...

I have found that him and I were better off friends...

I used to loose my heels in random plans,
But with him I fear I have lost myself again.

I use to admire the stars until they lied to my heart, used to believe in him until his words disbarred meaning.

Whiskey tastes like him and it drowns me,
hope he enjoys being walked all over as he fumbles with my buttons helplessly trying to regain my trust...
while I simply feed the need to be reminded I am still breathing.

He is now only the object of my nights, getting me off until I have had enough and send him back to his side of the bed where he belongs to cuddle with his choices and deal with the neglect.

I warned him once that I am great at walking away, that I drive a hard bargain when it comes to being played.

You'd thing the way I walk effortlessly in 6 inch heels would have been a dead give away.