When I see this black and white photo of a house,
I always think to myself, "How did I ever get out?"
I see every detail, inside and out,
never missing a step, knowing it without doubt.
The memory stays,
but I wish it to be away.
For when I see that Photograph,
I see the fists flying. I hear the evil laugh.
What is real? What is fake?
I always missed meals,
I constantly had sick days.
I hid the bruises, I hid the pain.
But that still never made the problem go away.
True, this is all a dream,
but to me, it's as bad as my reality.
Soon I will awake, the photograph on my mind.
Constantly reminding me.
That fake memory always mine.
I never found out who gave me the photograph,
who gave me the pain.
The nightmares never ceased,
they always came.
And the still will come..
YOU ARE READING
Sure, Thanks, I am Fine
PoetryDepression Anxiety Insomnia Heartbreak Unloved Crazy Scared Joyful Happy Bullied Everything listed here is something I've either felt or gone through. As have many others. But is it easy to say out loud? No, it never is.
