Seven has an entirety about it,
a hidden wholesome within its meaning -
days, story-telling, sins and the word of Him.
The number beholding something greater
that can truly be perceived.

Seven has another meaning, a secret
only known by me -
the age when my home was broken,
the times that he hit me,
before the beating came to a stop.

There a seven pieces of me
which make me whole.
Not horcruxes, but physical segments.

My past and present,
the writer and the fighter,
the dream-daughter and the friend,
seven being the demon,
to which all the others attend.

Screams encased in silence
Scars torn by tears
Lives ruined by you -
Using a blade or two

Was I not here
When you wished to cry?
Why is it darling
You plead to die?

What kind of life
Do you wish to live?
No words to speak
Art hidden by sleeves –

With thee I beg
I see the horror laced in your eyes –
The questions you leave with me
No answer do I desire from thee.

Could I not stand for both of us?
Be the vein instead of a chain –
Delicate poppies could have been spared
The war didn’t have to stay inside.

Words greeted with silence
Silence smothered in tears
I cannot breathe for you –
Stitches – they wasted strings.

You never told me
what it was
that makes you
weak -

To the eyes
that glare at me
like cold steel blue -
empty and dead.

From them
no soul can I procure.

The mistake I made
was not what I had always believed it to be -
nor what you believed me to be

It was all just smoke and mirrors
An act of endless defiance
with games no one knew they were playing

The error was not in our ways
It was in the question - or questions
I had forgotten how to ask

Life broke me down and
shaped me into being the clone
I never wanted to be -