I can still feel your hands on my body,
The way cold iron shackles burn.
I can still hear your voice,
Like nails on a chalkboard,
Dragging longer than the last.
I can still see your eyes fade to black,
Like a movie,
After the credits roll.
Everyone tells you about love.
The fairy-tales, the butterflies,
The happy ending,
Complete with a white picket fence.
But no one tells you about the fine line,
Crossed far too often.
Where love meets hate,
And leaves the door wide open.
Where the sun sets and never rises,
Where darkness becomes your home,
And you can no longer see the door in front of you.
I can still feel you.
Because you never really left.