Drowning

My legs are getting tired the longer I tread, so I've started drowning. And the pain in my lungs is so great that I've decided to self medicate.

Meanwhile, the sane part of my mind screams behind metal bars and begs me to stop. But this fractured heart is getting tired of the battle.

I'm sewing my white flags as we speak.

-AT

Twisted Fantasy

She stares into his eyes with an unexplainable hollowness.

Tied up and gagged, he is helpless. She slowly draws out a knife causing his eyes to grow wide as he squirms and struggles against the restraints. Pure terror seeps into his veins; there is nowhere to run.

Then suddenly, she falls to the floor and screams, thrusting the knife into her own leg. She drags it up her flat stomach, leaving a thin red line in its path. Carving her body. Coming close to bone because there is so little flesh between that and her skin.

Look at me. This is my pain.

All of her anger and frustration wants to aim that knife at him. But her shattered soul is past the point of fighting. Instead, she releases her emotions upon herself in the physical realm where she yearns for someone to notice. Or at the very least, may her wounds take her away into eternal rest.

The man, who broke her down, still holds the power… even in her dreams.

-AT

A Lost Battle

A Lost Battle

She had everything. She never even tried to make friends. Everyone just gravitated towards her as if her blonde hair had some sort of hidden magnetic power. And sports- they like second nature to her. She was fearless and the world was hers to conquer. Growing up she loved pretending to be a teenager. If only she had known that at that age, everything that she had believed to be true would disintegrate around her. It was then that life began knocking her down. Hitting her behind the knees so that it was impossible to fight the force of gravity dragging her down. Her world went from being a land of opportunities to a place she was lucky to come out of alive. Cold hard realities set in like the cement around her monkey bars, and she stopped caring.

Now smoke clouds her vision. I try to blow it away but my lungs always give out. She’d need an entire army to help blow it all away. But it would help if that army stopped lighting fires beneath her feet. Setting off nuclear bombs in her home. Slipping poison into her food. I want to run through their lines screaming into their ears that all they cause is destruction. But my voice is too weak and she can’t even remember her arsenal of talents hidden in a vault that no longer has a combination. The only action within my ability is to watch as she trips over her own two feet during her blind walk to Hell. 

The sadness that accompanies this loss is worse than losing someone to death’s grip. And so I can’t help but grieve over someone who’s still alive. Someone that I see every day. She passes by only a hollow shell of her former self. She’s like a ghost chasing after the synthetic shine of a flashlight. It would be less painful if she had fallen in the explosions but instead she uses the fires of the enemy to light her blunts. She chose to join the other side and become her own worst nightmare. And thus the battle became eternal and I’m forced to sit in the graveyard every day as bodies pile up around me.

-AT