Recently, I've been dreaming of nightmares
and the fantasies of the knight in shining armor
have disappeared.
Telling myself, 'I will survive,'
teardrops stain my cheeks and eyelids.
Worries filling my mind,
demons in my head try to come back,
but I fight them off,
one day at a time.
Maybe, it is the gnawing pain
on the crevices of my bruised heart
or it is the trembling worry
that makes my stomach tie in knots.
Obviously, I might be jumping
onto the first boat of conclusions;
maybe, this is not a poem,
but another damned letter
that I will never send to you.
The thought of you not loving me back
makes my bruised heart fall onto the ground
and slowly shrivel up, dying.
My love for you is damning
and brings me to my knees.
I have been starving myself recently
and I am making up a lot of excuses
as to why I do.
Maybe if I put a gun to my head
or a knife to my skin,
maybe then, you would love me.
This love for you is damning
to the crevices of my aching heart.
~ Taylor-Anne
November 4, 2018.
A/N: This poetry may be triggering including the others I'm about to write in this book. I am deeply sorry for the poetry you have witnessed so far and for your information, it gets worse. Don't worry, the poetry still has hope and encouragement.