ᨳ lex

the fear, is here. and with a few hundred lives, maybe i’m finally in the clear.

i guess it’s because of the self inflicted scars on my skin.

your curls hang in your auburn eyes, as your rosy lips, they sigh.

you tell me, “it’s not your fault, those things they say are lies,”

and i guess that i believe it, but it never quite reached my skies.

so i stare at you, i know it’s empty

but something feels wrong, it’s kept me.

into a little cage i wove for my own,

that was only meant to be kind of home.

i claw and i breathe, i want to see the sun.

but it feels so impossible, what’s been done is done.

so the place i wove to keep them out,

seems to have a its’ own mind of doubt.

and the places that the demons learn to sleep,

will be the place i’m sure to keep.

“i watched them hurt a lot of people who did not deserve to be hurt.”

“well they hurt you. intentionally. like a game. and then wrapped you back around the false imagery of safety, when it was merely just an illusion of “compliance,” that you put yourself in. you wanted so desperately to prove to the ones who had been hurt, that there was still a good person there for them. somewhere.”

“maybe i just felt that i wasn’t one of those who didn’t deserve to be hurt. maybe i could be the one to understand their demons.”

“you have been hurt by everyone who has ever touched your life, that’s the human nature. at some point, everyone will disappoint you, make you a little sad. a little weary. but the difference is the intent. did they hurt you because you had your own false sense of who they were that you expected them to live up to? were you holding an expectation for them to act as you would have done if it were reversed? or did they truly, utterly, hurt you because they knew that if they cried enough, you couldn’t turn away. just as it has been done to you.”

“was there ever accountability? no, you were just “abandoning them” when you could see that they were manipulative. when you stuck up for yourself.”

“and guess what? you played those wicked games. you became a little more fed up each time. a little more reminded of the people who did you badly in your life, the people who killed your childhood self. you saw the same exact patterns once more. and you started mistaking righteousness for power, you started taking back the power with people who gave their all just to bring you down with them to their level.”

“you started bleeding on people who didn’t quite deserve it. you weren’t sure, when it was time to die with your convictions, or try to be the empathetic person you used to be. it was all so confusing. and it all used to be so clear.”

“things started growing to chaos, there was no more grey zones that you had lived through in your entire life. always saying abuse was them just being misunderstood,”

“one day, you lost the ability to understand the beauty of understanding people.”

“people trying to save you were trying to control you. their intentions just couldn’t be pure. everything was an affliction to them. it was black and white, no more balance, but it felt a little better than floating through the murky greys.”

“sometimes, it comes down to acceptance. you became angry, you became tough. you became unforgiving. you stood up for yourself. all of a sudden you were going through life, knowing things hurt you — and all those things underlying, wrapped around you like chains being placed in the dust.”

“your brain just no longer felt it. you protected yourself when you had to survive, and now you cannot seem to break apart that mind.”

“and you told yourself, i am allowed to be angry i am allowed to escape. i am allowed to shut down when i feel no purpose with you anymore. and you allowed that feeling to be nothing more than people hating that you just finally placed boundaries.”

“because deep inside, they know that young girl so caring, so forgiving, so, “they are just reflecting how they feel on the outside on me, so i will give them another chance.”

“they want that heart, that soul for themselves.”

“they wish they could break apart these castle walls, they wish they could have that person.”

“but you will never let that happen.”

“you became the escapist, the masked artist, the type of person that could feel a scent on their skin, and remember from dawn til dusk and thousands of words bleeding from your skin.”

“when did i realize they were a bad person?”

“when they made me this way.”

and it was then when i broke through the illusion of black and white when i was still drowning in the murky grey zones defining my life. i broke down the ability to differentiate if they were truly bad person, or a good person making bad decisions.

because trust me, they were never an angel.

they were just a bad person.

and sometimes, i feel like, “so am i.”

a storm was on the horizon now, its’ soft and full thunders laced the tension with ominous symphonies, closer, louder, closer, and louder.

and every time she came back to life, she felt a little more dead.

staring out the window that faced the garden overriding the town's stone roads, full of black archways and structures more resemblance to tombstones, she watched the colours drain in the sky. she felt the colour from her face with the wind, tugging so softly away, drifting on and no sign of its direction or return.

the clattering of dishes rang from downstairs, and she barely flinched. she was in a fog again. dissociation ate at her bones, thoughts she had grown used to suffering with, resurfaced and tore at her skin. she remembered once so clearly, the car that pale dawn morning; what it felt like to feel the rawness of the air again. the warm & fuzzy feelings drained of her nervous system. in a sense, once the addiction ravaged the frame of her dissipating body, forgotten of the warm numb tingling of the drugs felt more like a hot shadow over her, never quite sinking its' claws deep enough to kill her, but to surely and slowly drain her of her blood.