Used to looking at the ceiling,
being here and now doesn't feel so different.
The main change is that I'm actually consenting.
No one's making me so I don't really resent it.
But still I have remembrance of each and every instance
in which he did this.
And now it hurts to even mention it.

Anyway, I guess I should focus.
Right now there's just us and I have to force myself to know this.
The moment you take me in I remember...
I remember the way the first time burned my flesh like lit embers.
And when you attempt to become one with the wreck that I am,
all I can do is weep because it feels like I've been damned.
Sorry, because none of this is your fault.
It's the result of the past life in which I was wrought.

But now I feel something completely different from before.
Not like pain and anxiety,
but like love more and more.
Can you feel the flashbacks through my skin?
Can you sense the livid attitude I harbor when you receive me in?
Either way, the vexation is there.
Because when I close my eyes and try to remember it's you and not him,
all I can envision is scaly fingers tearing through my short hair.
My pulse becoming irregular as my body falls numb,
and what to do?
WHAT TO DO?...
except to lay there dumb...founded.

I hoped that you could or would erase the memories I hold.
I prayed that actually giving myself to this task would be cleansing for my wretched soul.
But to expect such from you is to want you to be superhuman.
I guess I'll just close my eyes,
lay back,
And continue asking myself, “WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU DOING?”