The Stories They Cannot See

The words still lingered

in my mind;

the 'I love yous',

the 'I'm sorrys',

almost as if you had them set

to play like a broken record

every time you fuck up.

The fuck ups.

Those damn fuck ups.

I never knew someone could

get so angry,

until I met you.

My face stung.

My eye glued shut.

Blood poured out

onto the floor.

Yet,

all you can say was

"I'm sorry".

That was all you could

think of saying,

while I lay on the floor

in pain,

crying as I tried to keep

my mind off the pain

you just caused.

"I'm sorry".

"I'll never do it again".

"I swear".

It's all the same.

All the same.

You promised me that

you were better.

You told me that

you got help.

You made me believe.

You managed to

convince me that

I was the reason you

behaved this way.

"I'm sorry".

"I'll never do it

again".

You're right.

You won't do it again.

You can't do it again,

if I left.

But I won't leave..

you know that.

You eat that shit up.

I won't leave.

I can't.

No matter the pain

you've put me through,

this is the best place for me to be;

in pain,

screaming for help,

crying to whoever could hear me,

this is where I need to be.

Otherwise,

why would others allow me

to live like this?