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Fingers Full; Hands Empty

**~-~-~ Promise after promise Fell into my head I carried them with me, I took them to bed So hopeful, I waited; To hold your forever Intentions negated This jaded endeavor Yet, lies soon took shape And doubt would take hold Your dormant coercion Cementing the mold. You never came through You never came back The woodchips, they faded The bracelets, I lacked Trapped under my instincts My innocence, vanished The moon was relinquished My purity, famished Young as I was I’ll never forget The impact you left me; Your stark epithet. . . You took something good, You found something pure My will cut in half Rose white, and demure. The root of my psyche You’ve yet to discern, Who plundered my childhood; My chastity, burned. Existence forgotten; Defined from within I’ll never evade you You’re etched in my skin. Scar after scar Fell into my arm Your ink swam my bloodstream Your slander, your charm I swindled the rabbit And powdered my nose Freefalling in choices Defining your prose. With tasty white pills, A hand in my throat A liver that’s grilled; The bible I quote. With no one on earth To save me from me I sampled the bottle From under our tree. I cannot begin Nor pretend to describe What happened to Maple, Who am I inside? The loneliest girl In the entire world The events I’d mistaken The chastity; hurled All that I know And all that I think; Is this monster within me Was born in a blink But who’d tune in now? The opinions are set. My mind is jay walking The lines of regret. The holes in my person The doubt I can’t sever; My husk of normalcy Braving the weather. . . For what you don’t know Is what you can’t nurse Assumptions you draw Are making me worse. Conclusions concocted Your story, enhanced My path interrupted Dismissed by a glance. So I’ll say goodbye; There’s no seeds to sew For this is my truth. . . Confession bestowed. Still treading his words That flood to the brink; Harassed, used, and left In less than a BLINK.**
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Written by
Maples
Published
Jan 23, 2016
Lines·Words
113·356
Notes

To Moses,                                                           

When I was fourteen you told me

You’d never leave me.                      

Yet, it’s been twenty years;                 

My pockets are still filled    

With woodchips.                            

All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.

Tags
#sad#drugs#abuse#alone#him#rape#addictive#addict#predator#virgin
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