Trust Me

I’m standing here on this rock yelling into the wind, begging for more than just the sound of my own echo humming back to me in my loneliness.

“Trust me.” I keep hearing you say, “Trust me.” And from far deep inside me, in that somewhere that hasn’t been reached in such a very long time, tears rise. And the place where smiles once warmed me sinks desperately under water.

The hollow swishing against my ear drums repels the sounds your tongue utters as your lips cunningly form around the words again, “Trust me”, like a crocodile saying “bite me”.

And I’m trapped between the love you say you have for me and the disdain by which you keep me beyond arms length. And it must be beyond arms length, because I reach out to touch you, only to embrace empty air – empty, stale air.

And no amount of tears will drive you to take back the actions you have set in motion against me. No amount of pleading will turn your heart around. So in the heavy dark of night, I bite my lip and defy the salt that threatens to sting my eyes, close my hands tightly over my ears to shut out the only words you smile at me – as you look down from your lofty position above me, pleased with the hold you have on me – trust me.