I've moved on,
I tell myself,
I'm much better,
I've forgotten about you,
The misfortune of my childhood don't define me,
But then I see you on the street.
You've become a constant echo now,
But echoes fade, you keep coming back.
In my dreams, your voice follows me,
Telling me to trust you.
And I did, like the naive child that I was,
My worst nightmares consist of your hands roaming my body,
Searching for treasures that my body wasn't ready to give up,
Despite my resistance,
I wake up covered in sweat,
A silent scream on my lips.
The following day cursed by the aftertaste of the nightmare,
that seems to cling on my skin,
Follows me around like a shadow,
Leaving me incapable of ever trusting another man,
And a million questions running through my head.
"Why did you do it? I was just a kid!
Do you still think about how you ruined me?
Do you even remember?
How many more kids did you mess up?
Did I make it worse with my silence?
Could I have made a difference?"
YOU ARE READING
The word spill of a messed up mind.
PoetryAs the title suggests, its basically just a bunch of poems or snippets that pop up in my head. ❤ You are that best selling poetry I never got to write, but could only read and fall in love in love with. ❤
