Domestic Bliss

held down by the whole squad, face in the dirt being kicked in the head flashes of light disjointed comments and vomit making itself known, a threat that comes to choke me to the very death a feeling so thickly present when I'm with you being told that you only want me to be happy and that you are not happy as if in my experience being happy is a concrete thing that is real, listen, all the best i can hope for is to not be in the kind of pain that I actually deserve, you want to go with this one and then another and use passion to stab me in the face so hard not to become something worse than what I already am inside I have swum in oceans have seen castles been victorious i have been loved and strongly admired, perhaps and now discarded, ignored but still pitied as though the lights and wine were not real and the dull sadness is. this is your gift to me, our broken children your contempt our squalor what does not kill me won't make me stronger just makes me live longer with a face full of dirt and a broken tooth on my tongue.