Underwear discarded, he looked into the mirror
Glaring back at him was such a gangly mess of hair and confusion
Looking away he quickly got dressed
Yielding to his low self-esteem yet again
It hurt so badly, but that wasn’t the worst of it
Now he had to suffer from the consequences
Just thinking about that put him in an emotional tailspin
Unable to find which way was up
Reduced to a quivering mess of trauma
Emily had dumped him
Devastating his self-esteem and libido
** the following story might be disturbing for those sensitive to domestic abuse**
The scars didn’t show. He made sure of that, yet they were a work of art. It was hard to cut with such precision, but he was a master of his craft. He was proud of his handiwork, even if he was the only one to view it.
She bore the scars and wondered why he did this to her. She also wondered why she put up with it, but she couldn’t make herself leave. Every time she thought about it, his voice would pop into her head. It was just words after all, and he was right. Those words didn’t really cut her and make her bleed, yet she hemorrhaged out her hope long ago, and she didn’t have much self-esteem left in her deflated, marred ego. Every night she prayed for everything to end, but her prayers were never answered.
He watched her cry herself to sleep. Sometimes he would feel guilty about what he did. Other artists maimed themselves for their art. He knew he lost pieces of his soul for his creation, but it was a sacrifice that must be done. He was so grateful for his canvas.
He slipped beside her and held her tight.