Fingerprints have become bruises

Along the delicacy of your kneck;

His hands the weapon

But his jealousy the culprit.

Still, you close your eyes

So you do not have to look.

He fills his grips with your soft hair,

And drags you through the carpet;

But you do not try to break free.

You hang there limp with an empty stare,

Like a lifeless doll that does not blink.

He stones you in your sleep,

Firing boulders at your head;

Blood drips and blinds your eyes.

Perhaps that's why you cannot see the beast 

That hands you roses of razorblade.

He kisses your blue lips,

Eyes a sea of black saphire.

On the ocean floor of those gems

Is a ship that never sailed;

His love the barbwire around his sea.

Words are chiseled to darts,

Piercing through your paper smile.

Vows a decayed rose flooded in your water.

You sold your soul to him,

But he will never be yours.

You did this to yourself

When you unpacked his bags

And washed his feet with your hair.

He is your gun, your ticking grenade;

Not murder, but suicide.