Walking Bruise Poem by Cherie Mort

You are a walking bruise, my love
You're always hurt, I know
And yet you cannot fathom
It comes with me when I go

You speak of drinking poison, like philosophers of old
Yet do not seem to realize the notion makes me cold

I shut my ears and sink into the water, dark and deep
And yet, your words all circulate when all I want is sleep

You are a walking bruise, my dear
and hatred in you coils
Remind me once again, sweet charm,
of your revenge's spoils

Is this a test, I wonder? To see if love is true?
Perhaps it is, I ponder, but hardly true to you

I love you and I treasure you,
That much can't be denied
But what you do not see from me
Is how I feel inside

I hate my own existence far more than I feel for you
Your bruising from your own past seems to taint my future, too

You are a walking bruise, my love,
Most likely passing through
Just know that, though I love you, I am not in love with you