And in the beginning, I remember how your hand,

Had reached out to help me,

As you promised me that you would love me,

That you would care for me.

And those promises were not the only things broken,

When you used that same hand to hold me down, to use me, to hurt me;

And bruise my vunerability that I had given to you.

And you left my skin in a state that made my mum sob;

And me in a state when I sobbed from one touch of it,

As I'm forced to remember your grip;

The way I had wished to pass out;

Maybe then you'd stop, you'd realise my pain.

Because you did not care for my consent,

If my answer was not a yes.

And you made my boundaries a checklist;

Like some sick game to break every one,

And to break me down further and further,

With each one that you tore down.

Maybe I let you use me because at least it gave me one:

Fuck me, then not give a fuck.

But your use of my body broke it,

Until I felt like I was no longer a person,

I could no longer be myself.

And is that what you had intented?

And now I'm dressed in black.

I'm dressed in black because I am greiving.

Greiving for what I thought that we had;

I'm mourning the person I convinced myself you were;

And I'm recovering from the lies of my rose-tinted vision.