So it goes,
Those eighteen years pass.
Being cursed.
I was thrown around,
Like a voodoo doll.
To the emotions that haunted me.
I was pricked,
By the painful needles of conflict.
Painted red by my own blood.
Then,
I was tossed away,
Like I meant nothing.
To those who held me upright.
It's a cursed path,
Living in fear.
Of the hell that awaits,
Behind the broken walls of eternity.
Even if life meant nothing.
Even as that doll,
I felt passion, love.
Though it was buried deep.
Until recently.
Naive little doll was I,
Wide-eyed and wandering.
Where should I go?
In this scrutiny?
Being cursed,
Is a ****** up thing.
So goes the thought of this one thing, "Where Do you go next?"