i fall back into the pit
of ghoulish flashbacks and nightmares,
and watch the same tragic scenes unfold repeatedly
of the child in me being dragged into the bleak blackness
to be fed upon, then subsequently discarded.
she tried to put up a fight,
but it was all in vain.
i'm such a fool for deceiving myself of their existence,
as they burned me while still conscious.

and this is the very moment
i metamorphose into a poet.
when my mind and heart have been spent,
from being a constant playground
for my fiends in so much glee to play at.

i metamorphose into a poet,
gather all fragments of myself
and become the poetry in my poems.

but you see, sometimes i am not a poet;
barbed wires wrap around my throat,
choking the words that want to break free from my chest.
and i just cannot bring  myself to lift the pen
and unravel myself through lines and verses.
...
around, indeed, these fiends of mine will sulk and lurk around.

@boonthemoonluv