I always thought I would be okay.

I never once knew what it would be like to crumble.

I couldn’t fall, couldn’t stumble.

I wasn’t allowed too.

I had to stand, had to stay strong.

A relentless image of God-like perfection.

Beautiful, graceful.

Marble, acid, frigid.

My actions had to be calculated,

Taken into consideration.

I couldn’t crack, break,

They would ask questions if did.

No one could look inside.

See the depths of what was beneath

The skin, the granite bones.

Under the muscle, beyond my voice.

It’s not that I didn’t want the world to see.

I just couldn’t take the blame for what I had done.

What I had allowed the monsters to do to me.

I was afraid. I’m still afraid.

Disgusting, dirty.

The world will never know, the world can’t know.

No one can

Take a peek at the real me.

Whispered shadows, haunting voices.

My monsters are demons.

There are no saviors.

Where is the God you tell me about?

The one who vows those doubtful

Promises to make everything right.

Promises to make everything better.

Promises to give back the life I didn’t have.

But how can you give back, what was never mine?

Faith is ridiculous in it’s occult.

I was stolen, I was not forgiven.

Pray. Pray. Pray.

I never lived.

No matter how many times I whispered

I still wanted to scream.

Out loud to the sky.

Maybe our heavenly Father

Would ask me why.

But no one called to me.

No one saved me.

My savior was my own name.

My reflection. Identical. Always here.

Forever here.

I wanted to scream, tell them the truth,

Spit how you were a liar.

I wanted so bad to,

Tell them your name.

But it would break the fragile hold

On the little sanity that was balancing

In my mind. Teetering over the edge

Of what was real and what wasn’t.

The imaginary friends that should’ve left

Me a long, long time ago.

The disturbing little girl with no eyes

Who screamed for blood.

It was then, that

I knew something was wrong.

I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I didn’t know exactly what it was.

The little liars in my head

Whispering, whispering

All those little lies my demons told,

I didn’t know how to tell.

If it was the truth.

If it was a lie.

If it was an escape from a darker part of me.

If I was desperate for something to be wrong

To tell me there was a reason for my insanity

That I wasn’t just crazy because I was destined to be.

But I remembered that afternoon,

Clear as day.

We were in the dark,

When the monster came out to play

I remember it’s voice

It never told me it was okay.

It never told me it loved me.

It never told me it would hurt.

It would feel wrong.

It would cause my disorder.

My depression.

My madness.

It never,

Threatened me to keep my mouth shut.

I can remember it against me.

It’s hot breath slithering against my skin.

The stiff remembrance of growing up over night.

How horrible it was because I didn’t love him.

The same blood ran through different veins.

But I can’t tell if it was a memory.

Blocked out by days of darkness,

Erasing everything. Erasing everything.

I don’t know if it was real.

I don’t know if it was a movie I saw,

Replacing the characters with myself and my demon.

So,

If none of that happened,

Am I liable for my own insanity?

Is it my fault that medications line my cabinet?

Did I put myself in the psychiatrist’s office?

The therapist’s office?

Did I push everyone away because

Subconsciously I wanted to be alone?

The nightmare,

The demon,

The monster,

The screams,

Was it real?

Was it?

Was it?

Every night I sleep,


The confirmation of


My nightmares tell me it was.