What I Fear I Create
I gaze upon the beautiful bruises that intricate my body,
And the memory of their existence beats them further,
Until I wake to see that my own child is bleeding,
Now by MY hand.
I hear screams echoing, rattling in my skull,
So I shoot the bullet in hopes of silencing them,
But all I do is saturate the nightmares.
(Stop closing your eyes! You are vulnerable!)
I tried to run, to escape my condemnation,
But the blood,
Ruby with innocence and purity,
Seeped through the soles of my shoes
And glued me to the floor
So that I may bear witness
To the sweetest face of death I will ever encounter.
Now I try to dehydrate my veins,
Bleeding and bleeding onto the mass that leaks on my floor,
And drowning in salty tides of my own despair,
For life is no option to a childless mother,
And I am such
Because I could not bear to hear the voice of pain...
So I took it from her before it ensued.
Through what I thought were distractions from my challenges,
I became the monster myself.
My brain shattered the lost emotions
I clung so damn desperately to
So I would know not to inflict them upon others.
I died spiritually a long time ago,
A soul decaying in a broken, living body,
And I lived in an animal world;
Learning to survive,
Consumed by instinct to kill the pain,
And to silence all that which threatens me.
The first time tragedy struck my flesh,
I stabbed back,
And then I fought for my life.
And then fear sealed my fate,
And I slashed the wrong victim,
And what I was scared of becoming
I found myself wearing its parasitic skin.
It grew over my imperfections and inflictions,
Seething and oozing and running planks into my brain
Like a sick form of mold,
Taking away personal reminders of who I was,
Disguising all that was me,
Terminating anything I was ever meant to be.
I learned that what you fear you create.
I am now guilty as,
And of what you call, sin,
The bloody politician with a Frankenstein face:
I will destroy what I cannot take.
I am the very thing I hate.