I am a crumpled sheet of paper in the hands of my predators
Their hands snaked around me, squeezing the life from my body, leaving me to collapse into their want
Too young to realize, too weak to fight back
………
                                                He choose the game he wanted to play
                                                and I became a dice he could roll around
                                                in the palm of his hands
                                                         But this body is my temple, you lost                                               my game and there will never be round two
………
My own thoughts strangled me as my body refused to listen to my brain
To touch my skin felt like fire burning through my veins, fire that ignited my predator
Hopelessly sinking into the bed that became an ocean, water drowning me and continuously pulling me further down
………
                                                        ­ She destroyed my innocence where
                                                       “playing house” meant I played victim
                                                         and she played the predator
                                                        ­ But this body is my temple and you
                                                         did not receive an invite to my
                                                         house p­arty
………
They had the power to take my dignity into the palm of theirs hands and crumble it up
We are told when we crumble up a sheet of paper, you can never make it the way it was before
………
                                                      ­    He threw me over his shoulder like a
                                                   rag doll and brought me to the place that
                                     was once “my room”and is now “my nightmare”
                                  But this body is my temple and not for you to play
                                                 with like a doll you received on a holiday
………
Words disintegrating from my lips with the ashes of consent and destroying my trust for any human to touch my skin
Circling the drain of intimacy
………
                                                    ­ They strapped me down and taught me
                                                        that crying meant I was “asking for it”
                                                             But this body is my temple and
                                                             my ­words are louder than your lies
………
I wear the damage on my heart
My body used against me more than the number of fingers on my hand
………
                                                       But this body is my temple and when I
                                                                ­           broke free of your *******,
                                                        ­                 my temple grew taller than
                                                                ­          your hands could touch me
………
I am a crumpled sheet of paper escaping the hands of my predator

Heavy, the dark clouds descend
Pressing down upon my shoulders.
I fall to my knees as I try to scream,
But my lungs will barely breathe.
Thick ash coats my throat,
The sweetness of death
Dancing across my tongue.
Thoughts like electricity
Shocking all of me,
Interchangeably.
Forehead meets concrete with desperate force;
The pain a mere whisper
Against a raging wall of emotions.
I beg for death to break this hell
My own consciousness the walls of this prison.

On the outside I am calm:
Still, silent, high-functioning.
The gift of my survival,
Now the curse that's killing me.

If I had to anonymously write about being hogged by depression, my pens would run out of ink before I could finish.
While reading it, you might even conclude that the author finally succumbed to the morbid thoughts and machinations lurking around his overwrought mental. When in reality...

10 toes is what I still stand on.

Sometimes I still hear the snap of the belt against my skin.
It's why I still flinch when a stranger steps to close in proximity.
My heart often rises in a flight of birds.
Just trying to escape the cold rush of December.
It flutters trying to keep up with registering between fight or flight.
My feet often start running before I.
Often mistaking a pen dropping for a bomb.
Regardless I am gone before I ever arrive anywhere.
Half checked into a place I can never just leave.
My milestones are the intermittent fasting between therapy sessions.
We often talk of the stuff we carry;
but leave the pages blank on the things we must live with.