The Master

You are the master of self aggrandizement You have forgotten how to be in the wrong, Manipulation is your art, Insidious word-play, gentle put-downs, Reminders of all my failures are your tools, I am the dartboard, Peppered with your sugar-tipped barbs You push me down with such skill, such grace, I can barely feel my feet sinking through the floor And before I know it I’m up to my chin in mud But still bound to you by my love, A coiled quicksilver chain I’ve learned a few tricks along the way, sure I’ve absorbed the art of soul-scarring, with a smile I emulate your gritted-teeth cruelty, Your tender slaughter of self esteem But the student has not yet surpassed the master You slice my frailest longings, you mangle my melting heart And then you kiss the oozing sore you opened You paper over the cracks with a concerned comment, An off-hand ‘I miss you’ You mortar the raw bleeding gaps with tenderness, But in the dead of night, when truth weighs heavy on my chest, I lie in bed alone and cold, and wonder how much of it is true… And how much of that affection really comes from you