I'm free from the torture and pain, but I will never be the same. I'm a sorry excuse for a person, a scared, timid, recluse. I'm not the same person I used to be. I dont walk and talk the same, and
most of the time, I dont talk at all. After three years of torture, I learned it's better to keep your mouth shut and head down to save yourself from being devoured by hounds. Im a beaten and
broken image of myself. I used to focus on the world around me, but now I focus on myself, pointing out every flaw and insecurity doing more damage to mental health. I thought the pain they caused
me would go away when I left, but it hung on and dug its hooks into me. All their words and insults play in my mind from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed. All I can think about
it's how they were right. I look at myself in the mirror and see what they were talking about looking at the ugly twisted image that is supposed to be me. There's no point in trying. I'd rather crawl into a
hole and cry as I've done every day for the last three years. Holding onto this dark place as it calls me back with its lies telling me I need it to survive, but it doesn't get any better in the dark. No
one talks about what happens in the dark and its sick method of healing. Old wounds just get salted and covered while the insults are pushed away. Eventually, everything comes back to
attack, and the next thing you know you're in pain again. It's like you never left.
YOU ARE READING
LIMBO
PoetryI escaped, I barely made it out alive, the scars from yesterday still remain, never healing even after the pain. Time with nothing and no one but the demons they still follow me.
