a·buse verb- 2. treat (a person or an animal) with cruelty or violence, especially regularly or repeatedly. my truth.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 31, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 31, 2018



These rusted chains; Their heaviness ankering me to the sun. The heat scorching my skin; Its calloused hands ripping it to raven tinted dust evading me. Twisting and drifting through the citrus born skies, coating them in blackened despair. My eyes burning with longing as I watch the shattered, decayed parts of me rain down from the silence of the stratoshperes above me almost beautifully. They blanket all I have ever known down below. Sticky like tar it clings to those who I can not impress. My creators snicker in shame but they look away in acceptance. They toss the wicked keys to one another, spinning them around and around like a never ending whirlpool of unsinkable dismissal around their bloody index fingers. This was a game from the inevitable beginning and I was born the pawn but I refuse to play; to entertain the negative flames lapping at my feet. These chains no longer hold the weight you have bestowed upon them. They crumble underneath the strength of my inner demons you strung like puppets forcing them to dance around inside of my heart. No more. Cease; and I fall from the flames and land inside myself. They choke on my strength. They suffocate under the smoke that is my Willpower. Their song now distorted by my battle cries. The sword rests in my trembling hands. Their faces no longer familiar, changing form instantaneously. I no longer don the sash of fear and trepidation. I can not avert my eyes to the beast before me. They held the paintbrush of illusion for decades; watercolors of feigned love bleeding into me diligently. The monster was always present; hiding it's teeth and cleaning the blood saturated sheets everynight before bed. I stand my ground as they show its ugly, rotten face; beckoning me with validity and acceptance. Every fiber of my being screams in agony as I slice through the soot in air. I grit my teeth as its head rolls onto my defeated soul. I drop to my bruised knees as the skies begin to clear. They didn't swallow me up. They didn't reclaim my sanity for their own personal peace. So for that I must carry on and rest my eyes underneath the sun.

© Copyright 2018 kaitlyn r.. All rights reserved.

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