The High Cost of Loving You

Some wounds do not make us stronger.
When I cornered my better self,
he had such a look on his face-
such horror in his eyes-
to see what we’d become,
were becoming,
while the rope was strung around him, hoisted
high into the pines and left for vermin, left
even longer, until bones fell freely and
all that remained was a sickly,
wretched creature, desperate to please,
unaware of worth beyond what you assign.
and when you left, that creature remained,
trying to mend the scattered bones,
aware of what he’d done,
who he’d become,
and desperate
to pay
the price
once more