By Succubus


"You're damaged goods," he says to me,
Could be that this is true:
Feels as though my heart is breaking,
But it's little do to with you.

"What about the happiness?
You never write of that."
The joy hurts too, deep down inside,
Where all the pain is at.

"You really are so needy;
You dwell on all the bad.
It looks to me like all you know
Is simply to feel sad."

"You made me feel," I say to him,
"You opened me up wide,
You tore down all my precious walls,
I've no safe place to hide.

"You think I love my pain so much,
You think I want to need?
You think I like my heart torn out,
Left at your feet to bleed?

"True enough, it could be said,
Myself I have to blame,
For only with my love for you,
Do I wallow in my shame."