Sore.

My whole body is sore. The ache in my back; all over. Bruises on my arms scream in agony.

"But it's okay because he loves me. He'll come back and soothe the pain away."

It's never complete, the pain. Never all-consuming. Just enough to break my spirit, yet keep my body standing.

"But it's okay because he loves me. He'll come back and soothe the pain away."

They ask what's going on, my friends. I tell them I am fatally uncoordinated. They do not see thetruth behind mylying eyes.

"But it's all okay, it's really okay because he loves me. He always comes back and soothes my pain away. I swear it's okay."

Only I am beginning to realize, slowly. It doesn't have to be this way. There is another out there who will not tear my body to shreds to prove his power.

"It's not okay, because he doesn't love me. He will come back to soothe the pain away. But I will be gone."