She never thought that's is soft blue eyes would turn cold as ice
Or that his callused hand would make contact with her cheek so roughly
She would have never thought he would push her around like a rag doll
Or spit hurtful words to her face
Because he loved her.
Right?
Being tortured and abused is love?
Having to go day by day breaking because someone you would die for is slowly killing you
That's what he called love
That's not love.
To him I'm just an object.
YOU ARE READING
Elysian
PoetryElysian- related to or characterized as heaven or paradise I wish I was somewhere else than here. Like Heaven or Paradise. These are thoughts I have throughout the day.
