It's too hard to say,
just what I'd do,
to wake one day,
and not find you.
I'd probably cry and want to die,
then dry my eyes
I'd realize your terms of endearment
were fucking lies!
If you love me then don't hit me,
and stop treating me
so shitty.
Because I love you,
you know it's true,
that's why I stay,
stay black and blue.
A paradox, a conflict between the heart and soul,
a schisim-like split decision renders me unwhole.
My brain once tried to warn my heart
of abuse when it saw it start
but I turned
the other cheek
because I
was too weak
to leave.