If you don't remember, how do you know?
The wind, how it sings of the horrors of yesterday accompanied by the chills of tomorrow
The impermanence of my self coupled with indelible handprints.
The tattoo inside my brain that bleeds ink and stains all my actions.
The shadows, the black silhouetted figures eclipsing the light under the bathroom door back and forth.
The devilish grin glistening in the everlasting moonlight.
The demon my naive soul befriended at such a young age in the dark of night.
The evenings spent trying to striptease my cartoon briefs into the ink of my skin
The birds, singing my sorrow in the dawn of nights spent crying
The blood on every wrist and ankle containing every gallon of emotion but no discernible reason.
The dreams.
The ghoulish nightmares spent sweating and screaming for something other than the murderer two doors down.
How do I know?
I don't.
But my body does.
YOU ARE READING
𝙱𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝙵𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚝
PoetryAn accumulation of the notes app on my phone over the past 7 years ♕ Highest ranked #18 in short novel #54 in poetry #176 in sexual assault #260 in poems
