You pulled me in tighter
and calmly whispered to me
how scared you were
of going any further
because you didn't want to
fall victim to seduction
and lose control because
you love control.

"you're alright."
"it's just a panic attack."
"he's not here."

no, you don't understand.
he is here.
he never left.

he’s not in between my legs,
but he’s still invading my mind.

I don't feel like
myself anymore.

I'm not myself anymore,
not fully.

he's still inside of me.
he never left.

i.
when my father's pride lands
on my shoulder, digging it's claws
into my collarbone; demanding
blood in return for his
acknowledgement
of my
existence;
I learn to receive his broken
version of what love is
without protest.

ii.
when my mother's judgment
runs it's fingertips down the
curvature of my spine, searching
for weaknesses in my
posture, pose,
and figure;
my weight, skin
and fissures;
I learn to endure her
backhanded version of love  
without complaint.


iii.
when my younger brother's anger
comes over for dinner, makes itself
a guest in my first apartment;
and cusses out my duty
as an older sister to
even give a **** about him
in the first place?
Tells me I've failed
at loving him properly?
I learn to cry without
really crying
at all.

iv.
you think you've taught yourself how to be ice;
only to realized you're just shattered water.

Aloof in the wind, perfectly poised to the sun.
Dressed in the disguise of men he’d seen in movies.
Waiting, in the wrinkles of leather jackets
Waiting, intoxicating scent of cigarettes
Hiding with teeth infested vines
Hiding, fingers meshed into the roots
Cowering, it can’t hide from a mind so sharp it wounds him
A disgusting entity , suffering.
Oozing, contorting to fit the eye of the beholder
Repulsive vines splutter bitter sap that once seemed so sweet to me

She never played by the rules,
          she asked me to hide.

I wasn't going to be the victim,
  shorty had a blade but I wasn't
  into
    being  her fatality.

deviating
                    postcode, different rules.

With tweezers I relieve her of the pearls within her eyes / The experiment is finished: Experience and I have ****** her dry / Iris-less she cries, but her tears arise like incense to the skies / How sweet the fragrant plumes of her demise! / I ignore her cries; I have gained my prize / And soon her voice will wane / An infinity of ever-fading sighs | An affinity for exculpatory lies...

It’s actually quite fun
throwing mud,
if you can accept it
sticks sometimes
to your own slow fingers,
staining them.

But gather it all up
in handfuls,
dirt, wet for preference,
delightful
as missiles targeted
away there:

At the dark heart hated
by us all
and by all means repeat
the treatment,
until the target becomes
the victim.

There. Hopefully you feel
better now.

I feel your presence shift past me.

To you, I am simply a memory.
A memory that has been tarnished throughout time.
An enemy perhaps.

To me, you are a ghost.
Stuck in time, without the knowledge of this collective reality.
Stuck in a cycle of decline and reassign.

You stand in limbo, observing your own mistakes.
But in your created reality, there are no such mistakes...

A ghost broken down by their choice of travel,
But blames the damage on the road itself.

You can only twist a story so far before the pages tear and split.