Death of a Rose finely etched with corinthian leather. 031231
ungreat I'm not the person you think i am or ever was.
I'm constantly changing being molded into a new being
like a blade being forged by a world of brutal blows.
The worst of it is I thought i came out of the fire ready to fight,
not bludgeoned to a master's wishes.
I hear the echo of the mallot every time i close my eyes,
when I wake and there's a buzzing stillness in my ears
and then i think of how much it hurts.
My heart is screaming my skin is on fire, my blood is boiling,
because you're the first person to try and shape me,
and your imprint is burned into my memory,
and when i wake up choking with tears it's you that did this too me.
and i can't even hate you,.
i know some one else can come along and start this all over.
but your mark is indelible and will be on my body forever.
It's burned just under my flesh so no one will see it.
I pray at night that some one else will be sent to me.
and i fear at night i'll be back with you. and i fear that I'll always want you.
I fear I'll always think of you when I'll be with him,
silently screaming your name in my head.
I hate your name.
It's common and i read it in every book that i devour.
all these books i've read because i can't stop thinking.
I still can't hate you, but i wish i could.
maybe then i'd be ready for the fight,
instead of staying here in limbo being forged,
in and out of fire,
in and out of my insanity.
what's it to you?
who go