Middle of the Fire

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She's inside.

She's inside of my very soul.

She lives there,
       In the flames of the fire they call
              feelings.

A girl. She lives there.

She and I are the same really.

She and I are each other, but at the   
        same time, we are separate
                altogether.

Her name sounds something like the           subtle contentment you have from falling rain,

like the shivers you get from good music,

but also the tears of true grief and sorrow,

And screams of a tormented soul.

I can feel her dancing in my soul in immense joy, her tiny feet dancing to the beat of my heart like a little drum. And she laughs without fear.

but in grief I feel her collapse and wail in agony as she is pierced by hatred of the world, screaming for mercy inside me, just begging the world to stop its cruel antics for just a minute so she can heal.

So she can just stop bleeding.

She feels my loneliness,
    I can feel her in the corner of
        my maimed heart
          her tear soaked chin comes to rest
              on her knees pulled to her chest
                 feeling dreadfully alone.

She lives in my heart,
     Waiting for the day she will find
           Company in this soul of mine.

Once she heard a knock at the door, so she took a leap of faith.

The door flew open, and there another stood.

She welcomed him with open arms, her innocent intentions of having a companion genuine and real.

He entered in with a misleading smile,
But when the door was closed,
He stabbed her over and over.
He tore her little home in my heart apart.
He left.

She collapsed and fell
Bleeding out of open wounds
Her ceiling caving in on her limp body.

It took her awhile to heal.
She laid there until she had the strength to rise.
Until her scars came to close.

And bit by bit
She repaired her house.
Each day she carefully rose
And fit the pieces back together.

When her house was finally standing,
when she felt it would not fall anymore,
She made a decision.
She whimpered as she hammered boards over every window.
She cried tears of pain as she bolted down the door.
Because it was for the best.
She would not be stabbed again.

She is so lonely inside.
She looks at her scars as tears run down her cheeks,
She traces the grooves of the cruel stabs forever etched into her skin by the cruelty of a soul.
She is so broken.
She is so alone.
She is safe.

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