I kicked, i screamed, I fought. It didn’t matter.
I cried, I died, I grieved. It still didn’t matter
I yelled my prayers out laboring to escape
But there were no angels to my rescue,
only the devil in human shape.
Fractured in two, an exhilarating burn,
a fire you forcefully started that
still within me burns,
drought in the river; I cried a river.
Removing the breathes out my chest,
leaving me to quiver.
As loud as a new born child,
I shrieked no repeatedly
for the new born pain you implanted into me.
There was drought in the river
and then there was blood.
It just kept pouring,
there was a bloody flood.
And here I am again
trapped, kicking, my body seizing,
trying to run and increase
the volume of my screams,
until I wake up in a puddle of sweat,
struggling to swim away, it was just a dream,
It’ll fade away, but it doesn’t.
I have a mountain of tissues,
I make paper planes
I use them to try and escape the shame.
The pain, It sits with me through the rain,
it attacks my mind before I sleep,
I’ve tried counting but instead I’m
being chased by my blood stained Sheep,
I couldn’t escape it then,
I still can’t escape it now.
I grieve everyday for the old me,
the happy me, the carefree me, free spirit me.
Even my therapy sessions can’t set my soul free.
Forceful fire, I mistakenly burn my loved ones with this heat,
forceful fire, my war wounds are not visible, the kind of ones you cannot treat.
So I grieve every single day for the old me,
the one that got away, with a bulk of me.
Art work by: @iyunOla