I thought you said you loved me.

I pull at my organs, ripping them out one by one until I get too my heart. I tear my heart out and I hand it too you. You take it. You love and care for it, little do I know it’s fake. And then one day, after it all, you squeeze it. Blood pours out on you pale hands, splattering onto my wounded body. I lay on you, even though you pushed me so many times. I kiss your wounds instead of kissing mine. I’m left with a gapping hole in my torso. A hole you left. You throw the rest of my no longer beating heart onto me and yet, after all of that, I still love you. Why don’t you love me? I thought you said you loved me.