Who I Have Become

June 1, 2017

 
Paralyzed, I await
Struck still by insecurity
A corpse of my once intriguing self
Tears litter the floor
He has won
I cannot decipher if it is him or I that speaks
Is this his body or mine
Are these his thoughts or my nightmares
I am his puppet as he pulls the strings
Sculpted of clay
And molded into his idea of beautiful
She is pretty of course
But not real
Stiff, as though a doll
I don’t recognize that girl standing before me
She is hollow
Dead
Beyond repair
He has captured my dignity
Thrown my being into shackles
Torchered in his empty abandonment, I wallow
But despite my efforts to despise him
My heart still is set ablaze by his very glance

 






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