Was I weak for letting him do what he did?
Did it make me pathetic?
His face stains the inside of my eye lids like bitter red wine would stain a white dress,
His voice is vividly there every time some one calls my name.
Sometimes I can still feel his fingers exploring my body as if he hasn't tainted every inch of it down to my split ends,
sometimes I can feel his lips grazing my ear to whisper vile things.
He has control over me despite the fact he can't physically hurt me anymore,
despite that fact his memory still haunts me...like an echo of him.
His echo lies in bed with me every night,
his echo hides in my shadow whispering all my insecurities as if a second voice,
his echo traces every kiss,
his echo makes love to my dreams creating little demons.
His echo follows me as if it's the ghost of someone I killed...
Maybe it is the ghost...
maybe it's my ghost.
The ghost of who I once was before him.