My blood turned to ink when words were all I had.
When words were all I had to convey what a monster you were.
What a monster you are.
Still. To this day,
I despise you.
No more shall I feel daunted by you.
To better myself, I’ve reopened my scars,
Taken my quill pen,
Dipped it into my deep, burgundy red blood,
And scratched away.
Words poured from my soul.
With each scratch of the quill, I felt release.
A release like never before.
Digging deeper into my flesh with my quill …
Laceration after laceration …
Snatching all the blood I could get,
To provide the ink for thoughts.
The words were overshadowing the pain.
I couldn’t keep up with my brain.
The more I wrote, the better I felt.
Only a moment ago, I couldn’t bear the thought of you.
Remembering meant feeling.
Feeling meant shutting down.
Shutting down meant losing.
Losing meant almost losing it all.
Fuck all that you’ve done to make me the person I am.
The person, I WAS.
I’m no longer under your spell.
Free for years, physically, but tortured in thoughts, relentlessly.
Some may have called you sick … I called you Lucifer.
Satan … The Devil.
You lost at life when you stole my innocence.
Your own daughter.