“What’s wrong?’

You ask me “what’s wrong”

and I am really trying to stay strong.

But I sit around all day long

with a tornado for a mind and crypt as a bed,

with demons ripping me into pieces within my head,

and the only thing I want is to be dead.

Yes, when I touch the cool air

there is cold, but really no feelings there.

And I’ve noticed that the way I love remains unfair:

push push away,

but my soul begs you to stay.

And through these tears I admit I am afraid

because throughout the years

that I have been here

my purpose has been blurry and a little unclear.

My body rocks as my heart stops,

stops

stops.

Then the numbness of death fills my chest

like the same feeling of what little love I have left,

the little bit of hope which makes me obsessed.

No.

I must go.

So I drag my body, slow.

Slowly my skin scabs and bruises

and I’m content with all the blood my body loses.

I know, my words don’t seem to make much sense,

but the feeling in my body is so intense.

I’m sorry for not being okay

and I’m sorry if my love is just in your way.

And I am sorry that there’s never enough or way too much for me to say.

Rape

Dark,

it’s so dark.

The air’s moist and smells of sweat,

but not a single scent of regret.

The feeling lingers

with marks and scratches from his fingers.

Blood,

I, I taste blood.

But the flavor of his skin remains

in my mouth which he stole and claimed.

And I swallow,

then realize my lungs are hollow.

Breathe,

just breathe.

I choke down air

now that his hands aren’t there.

Now he’s gone

and I no longer have to play along.

Blurred,

my vision blurred.

But I still could see his face

as he threw me down into this place.

I am lost.

I was someone’s opportunity cost.

Left,

they just left.

Then I was all alone with him

and the room felt of grim.

Then it began

as he held me down with his hands.

Now.

What now?!

Forever a victim of rape.

with trauma I can’t escape.

And scars

which will never be mentioned in the memoirs.