when things were fine

March 14, 2018
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I wake up in a room.

I have hope.

A ray of light is shining through the black,

A puddle begging not to be forgotten.

I have fear.

The door of hope is blocked by boxes of memories, covered by curtains of deceit and of truth.

Hope rises thick as smoke.

Fear clouds our better judgement.

I look around to see Isabella, Victoria, Summer, and my little sweet Lyanna, these walls of flowers covering concreate.

The first words out of my sister's mouth are, "Is everyone Okay?"

She has a disease—fear is controlling her, a puppet of her formal self.

I close my eyes and try to remember the autumn.

The trees paint the ground.

My wrists bloody from an abusive rope.

Sweat drips down my back.

When things were fine, he attacked, a dead man's grip on my conscience.

Someone save me!

My breath falls on uneven words.

Pain is accessorizing my side.

I have a sickening thought corrupting me—it just won't go away.

What if I never walk in the sun again?






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