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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: April 27, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 27, 2017





My body is a journey through stages and places of life

It bares the scars from these faces and cases that made me pick up that knife

It feels the brunt of the stress that I’ve over come

It feels the brunt of the stress that’s also made me feel so numb


It feels like a warzone of memories I’ve tried to banish

But every night I’m proven these memories don’t vanish

I’ve built up this wall where no beauty is welcomed

So much disappointment

So much that has happened


These days I barely look in the mirror

I end up staring in my eyes trying to figure...

Figure out who is the blame

Figure out who I’ve became

Why can I not escape this?


Every line on my leg was a coping mechanism

To make me feel the pain I’ve been given

There’s only so much you can hate yourself inside

Before the hate becomes ‘kill yourself in pride’


I look at my reflection and this is what I see

I see fake happiness and smiles all over me

Such a front, such a fake

How have I managed to keep acting this way?

How can no one know or see what I do inside

How can no one catch that second where all my front comes down


All I see in the mirror is dirt,

A body used and abused but I am not only one who feels this hurt

Innocence and pureness was taken away, never to be seen even for one day

Never to come back again, it’s already gone, so I’m stuck here existing in this sad song

Every bit of me has been taken, there must be no mistaking

Not one bit left untouched

Every bit of me is ugly, every bit that I clutch


I grab my skin and hold it tight, just hoping the cells could reform over night

But not one shower washes the fingerprints of memories

The unescapable, undeniable, unforgettable energies


Constantly moving to try forget the past

But it’s all caught up with me so fucking fast


How can people overcome total body hatred?

When these feelings have never faded

They only become worse, they only become clearer and more vast

New memories sprout everyday


Cancer is a disease that kills

But everyone can talk about that

Where is my conversation, who can make my pain flat?

My pain won’t stop accelerating but I guess that’s no one’s fault

This is my life, trapped memories of sexual assault.


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