When I close my eyes my imagination gets the best of me. Twisted and corrupted by my own thoughts, I start to think the worse of you. Angels become demons in my head, virgins become whores, and you become a monster. Just when I think everything is ok you haze up my mind with your silence. Unable to breath in this fog of quietness I start to suffocate by your ruthlessness. Your caring and kind but when I turn my back you stab me right where it hurts, my heart. You leaving me bleeding, wounded, and suffering. You don’t react or resuscitate to my pain. Your motionless, cold-blooded, and dangerous. You can pin me up against the wall by just breathing, you can tear me apart with just one touch, and you can nearly kill me with those cold words you speak. But this is just my imagination right? Because its not real. Because I don’t want it to be real. But fangs don’t grown in a blink of an eye and wounds don’t just form out of thin air. Its not my imagination because you are not here and I am in pain.