tw; childhood sexual abuse
it could be the
flicker of a memory
i tried my hardest
to repress
to ignore
to forget.
memories never
leave because
your drunken
straying fingertips
still stain
my thighs and throat and
it's been eight years bloody hell
it's been eight fucking years
but i forgot and
ignored for everyday
and i can still feel you
on me as if it was only
another yesterday
i'm not a hateful person
some people tell me i'm too
forgiving
but i cant help but hate
you
because you tore me to
fucking pieces and ripped
me apart until i was
a sobbing begging screaming
mess of limbs and blood
and bruises
collapsed in my room with
the stark, watching
pale yellow walls
i don't wanna feel you
i don't want you to haunt me
and when i hear the
two foul syllables of
your name
i'm six years old again.
you took my first kiss. my innocence. my childhood.
i cant find it again.
it's too dark and foggy.
YOU ARE READING
sangfroid ;;
Poetrysometimes i write poems and edit them into lyrics because it's therapeutic. aka// my pathetic attempts of making words sound nice with chords alongside them ~~ sang-froid noun coolness of mind; calmness; composure: "cold blood" © pastel-romantic ; 2...
