Why were you haunting me?

When I get hurt, I am to blame. Because I allowed myself to be hurt by people who once promised to protect and love me. Who, under the stars swore allegiance to me.

You would ask why I let them do so, it is because I am still human. Capable of understanding love and feel things that only humans know. I still accept them despite their absences and lack of understanding. I still feel love and believe I am loved even if they have hurt me so many times. Even if I have already fallen to their trap, with their sweet voices whispering me promises and truthful lies. I became strongly weak with the words that they left me. I hated them but who is to blame? Me.

But why do I love it when you hurt me and yet hate them when they do?

With every stroke of your blade, your razor-sharp body passing through my skin,

I find comfort.

In those times when the world was deaf, you listened to me as I cry. As every teardrop washes away the blood, the pain increased. Still I asked for more and begged every time I was harmed.
The marks that you leave remind me that I once struggled. You believed that I overcame the troubles. You were right, I did… for a while. A very short while. Because they did not go away, I forgot about them and again, just for a short while. The ghosts did not leave neither did the demons that prayed for my demise.

I allowed you to hurt me because you made me forget this cruel place. You impaired my eyes to the reality. You open my eyes to the truth that magic does not exist and miracles do not always appear when you wanted them to.

Still, why do I let you hurt me?

Because you remind me that I am human, that once more I am capable of pain but this time I have control. I control what hurts me. I have power over the pain. I can go as long as I want and when I have hurt enough, you stop without questions, without doubt, without demanding from me.

One time I wondered why my blood never stained you. I tried to draw my canvass on your surface using my fresh blood but there were no images and no form. I then realized you are not human. You do not feel. No emotions, no truth, no life. You just allow people to bleed as you lead some of them to their deaths. Their deaths were art. The lifeless canvass was painted red as it swum in its own blood. I know you never worked alone. There were black angels that guide you and your victim.

Because of this, I wanted to leave you. I have hidden you under my bed but somehow my hand still found its way to you. You’ve been hiding there for years but I don’t know what has gotten into me that I searched for you in the sweetness of the afternoon. Once again, the ghost of the past reunited with the soul of the present. You haven’t changed. Despite the time that has passed, your luster hasn’t tarnished; there were no signs of decay. You made yourself clean as if you have prepared for our meeting. You were still the drug that sedated me during those days when I couldn’t stop crying. It was the feeling of a person who was reunited with a childhood friend. I just wanted a friend, someone to amuse me. You asked me to play and we did but you dared me to touch death’s hands.

Now, I don’t need to play. I need silence. Silence will it be. Soon.