There isn't a day goes by when I don't think about your cruel smile. Your glinting eyes, so wicked and green, taunt me everywhere I go. Mocking me. My head is hung over the toilet and your voice rings in my ears, even now, going on and on and on and on until I can barely breathe through the stabbing intensity ... you have an abnormal, twisted fragment in your heart, my love.

The evil shard of glass impaled in you is tempting me. Your voice murmurs in my ear every now and again; come join me, you whisper, trying to lure me once more into your intricate web. Pale fingers flit across mine, and soft lips graze my neck. My breath hitches slightly as I feel the smirk which always ends up spreading across your face at these moments, and I know that my hopes of leaving you in just a memory are futile.

I do love you, in a twisted sense ... I even crave you. Everything seems to link back to you in this never ending cycle of eventual pain. So tantalising, you are. Everything about you beckons me, even though a tiny part of you has no idea how you're killing me inside. A tiny part. But that tiny part is being stifled by the growing cancer lurking in your veins, extracting pure masochistic pleasure from what's left of the emaciated mess that is me.

My own terrified cry shakes even me to the core as I grovel at your feet. Again. Scrabbling wildly to stay upright, I can feel your sadistic presence burning into my skin, though I daren't move my wide eyes upwards to meet your demonic ones. Oh, why did I fall in love with the devil? Set me free from this nightmare, somebody, please ...

Shards of splintered glass pierce me. In agonising pain, I reach out with a violently shaking hand, clinging onto your thin leg. With disgust and contempt, you step away from me, and I fall flat on my face. Humiliation sinks into my core, and sobs wrack my body, my chest heaving. What have I become? What have I let myself become? All I am now is lust's new plaything, and it's killing me. Attempting to stagger away from the memory of you, I vomit and vomit and vomit, sickened with myself.

Even when I'm suffering all of this I still want you here. Your bad side hurts me and abuses me and kills me all over again every single time but it's all worth it, just for the split seconds when you're loving, sweet, tender ... all the things I really hoped for but was never worthy enough to be given. Wrap your arms around me warmly for just a moment and hold me close, please ...

Though I have a suspicion that part of you perished a long time ago. But I can always hope, even though I always find myself waking up like this, hanging over a toilet at the flat you left me in your will, putrid vomit staining the half-shredded pyjama top you always used to wear before it ... happened. Oh, still, still, I wonder – when will the real you return to my sleep, and replace the monster my mind has spawned.