My Boyfriend loves me an awful lot, I should know because he constantly tells me.
I know he loves because he tells me before he leaves for work every day.
I know he loves me because he constantly asks me what I'm doing, where I'm going and who I'm with. He says he loves me when he gets upset because I didn't respond to a text or missed a phone call. Sometimes I don't get all the fuss, there's only so much I could be doing different since the last phone call an hour ago. He says he only asks so many questions because he loves me and wants to know I'm safe. He says he loves me when he gets home from work, right before he rushes off to the pub with his friends. He says he loves me when he comes home from the pub, red lipstick smudged across his white shirt.
I know he loves me. He tells me as he punishes me for suggesting he might not. He loves me, he tells me as he holds me against a wall, the room fading. He loves me he tells me as he pushes me down the stairs. He loves me, he tells me as he rocks my broken body. He loves me he tells me as the cream walls turn red. He loves me he tells me as the red fades to nothing.