At night the ticking of the clock gets louder,

My anxiety sounds like thunder;

In the darkness I begin to shudder.

 

The cold kissing my skin feels shocking,

Making love to pain like I'm the Earth and it's lightening;

The thought of failure is a nightmare found frightening.

 

She takes me by the hand and names me lovely,

Tells me to treat myself kindly,

And I tell her I can't quite politely.

 

Her love is a dance; it calls me beautiful;

My self esteem is a knife; it calls me pitiful;

She tells me I've only been dutiful.

 

She is such a soft light,

But try as I might,

I can no longer fight.

 

I come home bloodied and bruised;

She takes me in her arms, confused;

I tell her I have been abused,

 

By restless thoughts, flowers planted in my mind by society;

She doesnt blame me for tear soaking my pillow quietly;

She just smiles and says she'll care for me happily.

 

I thank her as the dark visons dance in front of my eyes,

And as she holds me she gently cries;

This love (somewhere between good and bad) was written in the skies.