Poetry

The Child.

For the ghost who lives within me.
A piece of my soul.
A piece of my being.
The dagger in my past.
The hole that never stops bleeding.
I see you in the mirror and sometimes you still put me to tears.
You dreamt in flowers and pink.
Your nightmares were intoxicated.
A child so fumed with cruelty.
All I remember from your days is the playing of other children and the hiding of the scary man who came to your bedroom at night.
I barely know that girl anymore.
I killed her.
I hear her thoughts though.
I know the things she seen.
I know the things she felt.
I know the things she did to survive.
She still wishes that she could have killed you that night.
You can't kill the memories though.
They always creep up and make you remember why you wanna die.
I hope he realizes what he has done.