"I don't worry about you anymore"

It's a selfish thing

To wish that concern would never expire.

To desire to stab and drag 

The sympathy out from the other

To hold in my empty arms.

But, I crave your perpetual agony

If that's what it takes for you to love me-

For you to hold me in my depths.

Yet, I am expired.

You've weathered your period of nightmares

And now I am nothing more than a trophy

Of a job well-done.

A past tense. 

If high bridges no longer beckon,

You'd settle for my blood in the bathtub

For tears watering the floor

For stars like stab wounds on sleepless nights

For my devouring bed

For my hoarse throat and violence-dotted skin. 

You'd settle for me screaming

As long as it means there'll be no funeral. 

"I don't worry about you anymore," you say

As I come to you bleeding

And you smile as if being alive is enough.

What else do I have to do?

What else do I have to do?