Hurt, Pain, Regrets

Don't Tell Me

Don't tell me you love me.
I will believe you 
and my heart will melt
to the bottom of my rib cage
and my stomach will forget its function 
and my lungs will collapse.
And every time I'll look at you,
I'll envision amore coloring your eyes 
instead of your striking blue orbs.
Don't tell me you love me.
I'll forget about myself
and will refuse to let you remember.
I'll push my plate toward you 
when you finish yours.
I'll strip to my skin 
and hand you my clothes 
when there's a cold breeze.
I'll forget myself
and forget the reflection of the mirror.
Don't tell me you love me.
It'll drive me up the walls;
my sanity will become thin
just because you have said you love me,
and then my prime purpose 
for my beating heart will be you. 
Don't tell me you love me.
Your definition of love 
does not match my own.
You'll give me the illusion 
of me as your sun 
when in reality
I am just the comfort of your bed. 
Don't tell me you love me
when you know it'll end in tears 
with shards of my heart
puncture in my lungs.
Don't tell me you love me.
Having someone's thought of love
in the palms of my hands 

and beneath the grasp of my fingers
makes me forget to hold my own.