(no subject)

[ibitepeople]

I wrote a poem

You said, “Come this way,”
As you held my hand,
“I will always protect you,”
You lied.

A lie so hidden I could not see
The place you were bringing me.
Somewhere peaceful, somewhere calm,
Or maybe somewhere silent and solemn
Since your intentions were not of kindness
And I followed you in blindness.

But when I discovered your intent,
To me it was of no torment.
I foresaw the dangers; I chose to ignore
You were my friend, my lover, my keeper
To you I owed my identity, and I thought my life
But in fact, to take that, was your strife

I was forced from your arms,
Told that I should no longer fear harm
From you. They said I was safe.
But they knew nothing of you!
My mind was your sanctuary
And I had no aim of you leaving in a hurry

But what did I know? You had controlled
My thoughts, my actions, my world.
I thought you my keeper. What a farce.
A death dealer: a more fitting title.
And ever so slowly I saw who you are
You are just another scar

A marking of a past error made
Something that in time will fade
You have no safe haven with me anymore
I am single, solitary, distinct, and definite
I am not you, nor anybody else
Simply said, I am myself.