Poems and short stories

The meaning of love

Love.
The word is Hell to me.

Because I loved her when we met.
When she still smiled and laughed,
And when our love was
Perfect.

The times have changed.
And over it, our relationship
Has become cracked and stained,
And broken.

She changed, and I didn't.
But she still loved me, and she wanted
Me to love her back.

She wanted me to, even when she started to yell.
To scream and bark at me, if I
Happened to forget a simple thing.

She believed she deserved love,
Even when she hit me.
When she begged for forgiveness,
She still wanted me to say it.
So I did, only for it to mean absolutely
Nothing.

She said she needed love,
When I tried to flee my prison.
She told me she would cut and kill herself
If I refused to stay.
That I would be a murderer if I
Dared to leave.

So I stayed.
And told her I loved her, even
If it truly meant nothing.

She told me she needed affection,
And words of comfort
When she beat me.
When her fists hit my face, and
My soul.
She asked her to tell her I loved her,
And she would stop if I would admit
It.

But this time, I refused to say the word.
I refused to live a painful, bloody lie.
And I died for my disobedience.

At my funeral, she called to my grave.
She said that she still loved me,
Even after all the pain I caused her.
That although I was an abuser,
She still loved me.
And she knew I loved her.

But I didn't.
And I never will.
Not even dead.