You are the one who told me I was nothing.
I had nothing.
I meant nothing.
You told me that.
You force-fed me your words.
You admitted the presence of poison.
You held my hand and spat on it
and cried at the sight of your deed
and smeared my hand across your face
and put it down your pants.
I blinked.
I was nothing.
The void grew darker, impeding the
daily activities, routines, smiles.
But we were one, you reminded me.
We held on to each other.
Closer. Tighter.
As you pulled me away
from the smallest light of optimism,
innocence, ignorance.
I enjoyed so much before you
but I stayed and you spat
and you shook and I smiled for you
as you constantly reduced me to
fierce canine qualities.
I was special and your ego despised me for it.
How could you whisper I love you?
How did you get me to trust those words?
You ask why I shut out your love.
I wonder why you gave me whippings.
We killed each other,
and before you or I could bring around
that bold, hateful swing,
I walked away.