Art in Words

4

Being out of touch with my higher self is the most detrimental, confusing, painful thing I've ever experienced and yet, at the same time, I don't know how to feel without the confusion. It's like being split into two parts of myself, being the one who is hidden behind the lead me, the public me, the one everybody sees. But instead of being heard and listened to, having my ideas considered, and living with fair treatment, I'm being strung along on a rope without any real consideration or care for my own existence.

Enduring an unsteady flow of mistreatment and neglect for 4-5 years, my body has begun to cripple and I collapse to my knees. Skin eroded away and my heart is exposed, the soft beating could barely be heard.
I cried, "What am I to you? Will I forever be a slave to your torture!" The tears soak through my heart and I begin to radiate a beautiful light, "Is all the hate and envy that you fester really the person you want to see when you look at me?" Tears fall from my heavy eyes watching the backside of my cold-hearted disposition. "You said things would be different." I cry as I watch her turn her head, looking back at me. A big smile plastered across her face, her lips shaking as she bites down, clenching her jaw tightly shut. Her eyes, lifeless, from years of horrific sights she never escaped from. Veins working hard to pump the blood through her head and neck, a high blood pressure that she became accustomed to.

She was no stranger to substance abuse. Even before PTSD episodes, dragging her through every moment she was mistreated by another, making her relive her trauma. Then, once again, adds another year to the talley of an emotionally disturbed life of an addict.
She turns to me with nothing but resentment toward me in her gaze. I feel the fear strike through me and causes the atoms of my soul to birth the existence of another universe from the depths of my spirit. The light around us dims. Bright blue and yellow electrical surges of life is pumping through the heart, beating loud in my hollow body.
"If I reach out my hand for you to help, would you see me through the darkness or have you already gone blind again..." My little voice shakes as the heart in my hand beats shakily, vibrating through my body.

She speaks and the words get eaten by the void of the space around us. Finally, she speaks and nothing is heard. Tears are falling from our eyes at the same time while our galaxy collides with another. Explosions and collisions. It's cosmic anarchy; chaos, of which we reside constantly.
Chaos is where we were born, where our lives were created, and where we found a home.

She speaks and everything that was important, and what wasn't, is suddenly removed. All that is left is me, myself, and the darkness that corrupted the space between us.
She speaks and even after all is gone, even with nothing left to block the sound, space will deafen the noise from my ears and I will helplessly scream from behind this beautiful face, "Please, just let me grow!" Where my words will be silenced by pride and insecurities and reconstructed into a form of self-destructive express progression of life in survival mode.