She (Blaze) was never the one to talk. Never the one to open up, and never the one to be personal with anybody but her closest companions, and the assault changed nothing. If anything it made her even more shut out. Though she didn't notice it at first but when she thought she was improving her now sucky mood, it was in fact, getting worse. Finally one night she lost everything. Every bit of sanity that was left vanished that night, and to her, there was no getting it back. It was 2am and she couldn't sleep. She was just thinking of school that day and how people were getting more annoying and then it hit her. She was to blame for what happened that April day. She was enraged at the thought. She hated herself for thinking it. But she knew it was true. She finally realize how messed up she was. That she was assaulted and didn't tell. That she kept everything in. Blaze lost it. Her pillow became a disfigured mess as she swung countless punches into it. She wanted to break something. She wanted to feel something. All those weeks she had felt like a zombie. She was there but she didn't feel anything. No emotions. No pain. She grabbed the first sharp thing she saw and took it in her hand. It was a pair of scissors. She opened them up and held them like she was going to curl the ribbon of a present. And with that she cut 7 long deep slashes running vertical down her forearm. Blood pooled up and ran down her arm. But it was real. She could feel it. It would become her release. She would soon depend on it, even if it was cutting in the wrong direction.
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Maybe My Story
PoetryA story of Blaze, and Ace. A story of broken relationships, remote islands, trauma, hate, self destruction, and relationships that can never be. This is the story of tragedy, and recovery. Of Defensiveness and trust. Of music and writing. Of being t...
