His hands roam over my body.

Worshiping every inch of my body.

Claiming every inch of me.

And I freely give; knowing that I am never going to get it back when he leaves.

When he leaves me aching for more.

More of what? I don't know. 

Attention.

Love.

Even if it's only when his hands are using me for his own pleasure.

His hands caress my mind. 

Manipulating me into thinking that I love him.

But was he placing his hand there or was I doing it for him?

His hands caressed my face and lips.

They made me feel like I was worth something.

To someone.

But I felt his hands retracting.

Taking my heart with him.

Don't leave me love.

But if you do, come back.

Bring those memories.

Bring the pain.

You will always have a place in my heart.

So has everyone before you.

Everyone who has made me hurt.

So stay my love.

If not in person.

In this pain-ridden heart.

You will always have a place.

With the painful memories.

With the pain.

Your hand is my downfall and my undoing.

Stay.

With those hands that bring me pleasure.

And pain. 

Stay.