i Still Do 

i look Him in His empty eyes feasting on me, His words stage diving off of His tongue, Flying past my head, Like a glass bottle last night. "He is just stressed today, try to be better" "Everyone knows He wouldn't really upset her." Yet i still do i look at His hands, Before He caressed my cheek So gently, yet those very same hands Have struck me across My very same cheek. “Maybe try to be better.” “He wouldn’t really upset her.” Yet i still do. He looks at my arms, Still just as frail and fragile as before, His awareness of my inability to stop him, Yet He still does. He says 'Sorry.' An empty meaningless word to me now. “try to be better” “He wouldn’t really upset her” My awareness of His lack of guilt, Yet i still do. i look at my body, Dissect my insecurities, Maybe if i were… Then he wouldn’t. i’m carving my pumpkin skin, Because no matter how loud i laugh, it won't cover the way the word whore sounds in His voice. “Maybe try to be better” “He wouldn’t really upset her” yet i still do. i look in the mirror, it may be able to shatter, but i’m not sure how much more i can. i carefully accept His violent ‘apologetic’ kiss, as i sit picking up the pieces in my mind, because i still do, Yet He still does. Maybe i’ll try to be better. Because i still do. He looks in my eyes, tears streaming down my face, but with my mind’s needle and thread, i sew my eyes shut. But this can’t hide the indigo on my face. i’ll try to be better. He does love me, “He wouldn’t really upset her” so, i still do. The mirror looks at me, sees my tangible fear, it tastes like sex, cigarettes, and alcohol. Looks like Him. He caresses my cheek, Gently again. Tells me everything i want to hear, But he still does. i’ve been trying harder, “He wouldn’t really hurt her” i can’t, i still do. They look at me, yet they can’t seem to hear me. hear His dagger words, hear His riot in the kitchen, hear His degradation and humiliation of me. Maybe my silent cries are too silent. Maybe he really would hurt her. But, “he wouldn’t really” Attention whore. So i still do. i look at his lips, The same ones that left me Morning kisses. Now they leaves me Morning memories Of the nights i want to forget. But he kisses his morning, Like he forgot my night. Maybe he hurt her. i’ve tried to be better. i shouldn’t i still do. i look up to His face, the face on my mind’s wanted poster. “It’s important to face your fears” but when faced with His face i fear. Instead, i hold my angry tongue. Or else the only things i can say are apologies to avoid another Indigo face, “He wouldn't” i try. i still do. He looks down to my lips, The lips he would run his thumb over. Gently. He loved The soft pink in them, The pink that now drains everytime his void for eyes looks my way. The pink that is now in the shape of a hand on my cheek. “He would” He does. I’ve tried. i still do. i look up at the ceiling, Laying in a now empty bed. But the fear for when he returns Rises as the time slowly passes. For i am not good enough, So i continue to Dissect and carve myself. “He wouldn’t” if i were enough. But He does. And i shouldn’t. But, i still do. He looks at my body, Ignoring the origin of my scars Beautiful is no longer a part Of me. His hands running across my back, He smiles. i’m His. i smile, avoiding another indigo face. “He wouldn’t upset her” But he does. “I try better to be better” But He still does, i still do. i look at them, Nothing like us. He says we are special. We can’t Lose that. [A loss is losing something you wanted, But am i losing if i no longer want Him?] An indigo face and a tattoo of your handprint Don’t seem like a special many want. “He would” Yet i still do. He looks at my neck, An intimate and delicate place. Feeling His lips brush against me. Now, i know how it feels To cover bruises that aren't hickies. Hands are made for holding, but the power He holds in a hand as He holds me by the neck. “He hurt her” He does. Yet i still do. He looks at my face, My plastered smile that hides My traumatized eyes And the words that will never Leave my mouth. when people see something They don’t want to, They don’t care if i wanted to. “He is just stressed, try to be better” [believe me] He does. but, i still do. i look at my hair, Soft and shiny, Because if i can’t control my life, i can at least control my hygiene. He loved my perfume, my shampoo, Me. He loved me. My plastered smile and My sewn shut eyes Are falling apart. “He would” He does. i still do. i look away, He loved me. But my indigo face, and my drained pink lips Aren’t too special to me. His morning kisses have become Morning reminders of the terrors in the night of the drunken words sharpened by His razor teeth. He does. But i can’t stop, So i still do. i close my eyes, when faced with his face i fear. i fear losing whatever it is That is so special. i don’t feel special. How do you lose something you don’t have? i look Him in His empty eyes, “He [does] hurt [me]” “I [can’t] try” i still love him. but I can’t anymore.