I've been having this recurring dream for a little over a year now.
It started the day you broke through my barrier and poisoned my space.
The day you covered the canvas of my skin with the bruises from your paintbrush hands.
You call yourself an artist,but I find the term
monster
more appropriate.
This dream I've been having
isn't so much of a dream
as it is a nightmare.
The way your calloused hands
gripped my porcelain wrists in a manner that
no girl deserves to be touched replays in my mind over and over.
Your phantom chokehold causes me to wake
gasping for air, covered in cold sweat.
I can hear you growling in my ear
that you're doing this because you love me.
and I can feel myself go numb
as soon as the words have cascaded from your lips into the knot of my hair in your fists.
This nightmare
has never been a letdown in making me cry;
Covering my pillow in a pool of my own tears.
Harboring the sweet escape of sleep from me for days after.
Because all I can see is your hands
coming at me from all directions.