I've hurt you. I've worn your body down. Sometimes I love you and sometimes I hate you. I feel a right to tear you down but a responsibility to put you back together. Where does this control stem from? Does my brain tell my hands to strike? Does my brain tell me that the mirror is the only truth? Oh self, with every moment so fleeting, why oh why are you regretting and fearing the passing of another? What a waste, self. Get yourself together and realize you don't even exist.
p.s. He loves you.