He

by Mo’niya Bagely

He had

a warm, soothing touch,

not too hard yet slightly rough.

He was mysterious, hiding his sins.

But, in the beginning,

He was only a friend.

We talked and texted

from dusk to dawn.

We were naked

and vulnerable.

Innocent and childlike,

then a chain reaction.

We fell in love.

 

After a while,

He became sad,

too depressed.

I wanted to walk away,

I need to protect my energy.

Instead, I sent love and support.

Eventually, I asked him what was going on.

He said

he sat for 20 minutes with a cold blade to his throat.

His dark crimson blood dripped from narrow slits down his wrists,

tears stinging his cheeks,

Creating a deadly mix of agony on his tile bathroom floor.

 

I knew I had to stay,

I knew I was trapped.

 

But maybe that’s what He does

He tells others

shocking and heartbreaking things about himself

and the fear of him gone consumes you.

So, you stay.

Like a lock on a door waiting to be freed,

searching for some sort of key

but

you can’t be free until you’re released

Will He release me?