I’m told I’m loved by you, but I’m I really?
Something in my soul itches
It craves for words of validation
Desperation for the oppression of the ones
Who push me aside, and made me believe that I am nothing more
Nothing more than a merge image of there diction
I’m dying
The addiction to be loved
No prescription would help
I’ve fallen in so deep
There‘s no way out
You have me at your submission
Kiss me, and tell me that
Your aggression wasn't
Caused from the frustration against me
But rather caused by the friction
Between the door, and your hands
Over, and over
The obsession with your affection
Your attraction with dolls
No introspection nor self-respect
Play me like your doll
As you play the victim
The tension, and damage
When we make up
Even so I keep lovin you
When you say I’m your world,
Your dying passion
That’s what keeps me holdin onto you
But now it got me asking if
I’m I truly loved by you?
--Helen R., Adult
