I may be free, but that place still has a hold on me. It creeps into my dreams and reminds me of all the pain I left in those walls. Every memory of that place I want to forget, yet I still hold onto
them. I don't know why I torture myself this way when I know I'll never go back, but the wounds are still fresh, and I forget that I'm free. I start to think about having to go back there and the pain I'll
feel again, pouring salt on the wounds. I may be free, but that place still holds my mind in a cage. Getting beat to a pulp day in, day out just to move on, took a toll on me. My body trembles in
fear thinking of everything I've suffered through in those days just to escape. I tried to ignore it and say I was okay, but I was never okay. My wounds still sting and burn. They are far from healing and
the memories are far from fading. Even though all the bridges have been burned, I can still smell the smoke, and I still look across, afraid that their bridges will somehow find their way back to me.
The paranoia and anxiety from those painful moments still stick with me in these moments of freedom.
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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.
