I’ve got a question for you.
Do you actually love her or do you love the familiarity of her?
Do you love her for her personality or the wanton fervor for which she chases after you?
You say you love her, but these days you don’t talk to her like you love her ,
you don’t try to be who she wants anymore.
And you wonder what went wrong.
Why she refuses to go home with you,
why she retches the sugar-coated lies onto the ground at the sound of your name.
Maybe you thought she’d never find out,
about all the sick games you like to play with girls that in your mind
have no name
I know and she knows,
and that’s why she no longer has a home.
She only has monsters in her head,
and under her bed,
and in the closet,
and why she lays with shackles on her arms because it feels better than claws.
So I’ve got a question for you.
Did you ever actually love her?