I let myself hope,
let myself believe that you were better,
convinced myself your kisses were saving me,
not damning me.

I let myself love you,
and when your darkness invaded my life,
I believed I deserved it,
I deserved your words.

The sharpness of your hand on my face,
the venom of the alcohol on your breath,
the falseness of your apologies,
I wanted your twisted attention.

I want you to get better, but not at the sacrifice of myself.
I hope that sounds like a goodbye,
because I can’t keep repairing you, only for you to break us both down.
I’m not meant to be your salvation.

The only thing I have now are memories,
the first kiss just as sharp as the first hit,
the first words of affirmation still feel as deep as the words of condemnation.
I’m free of you, but never really free.

You’re another scar I hide,
I hope the next girl fares better,
I hope your love is no longer a knife.
I carry guilt over not being good enough to make you better.

Are you better now?
Am I better now?

I hope I’m better now.