Would you like to play a game?
(Let’s call it my adolescent marriage.)
It’s goes, a little something like this:
Good news in personal stepping stones,
(Hollow congratulations,)
Misshapen sentences leave open interpretation,
(Miscommunication.)
Cue the mania:
For how could my happiness be fair?
(Every celebration turned nightmare,)
Talented emotional kleptomania:
(Coercive blame clogging my trachea.)
I own a collection of dictionaries;
Crude, disheartening names,
(Projected from your mouth in flames.)
Cue the autoimmune spike:
(A trauma bond strike.)
Manipulating my thoughts until they became tongue-tied,
My intensities quiver every time you lied.
Push back:
“Fuck this, I’m done here.”
Cue the love bombing,
(Circling near:)
Hollow expressions of love I provided,
(A one-sided relationship painted in fear.)
My love was never a question,
(Your black hole ate it alive with simplistic perfection.)
“Give this a shot, just one more time?”
(I’d rather choke on a fish line.)
I’m bitter:
I’ve No “home” to claim,
(Scarred in manipulative shame,)
Heart naively maimed.
Who is a girl,
Who has no name?