deepundergroundpoetry.com
My past lies before me
I am captive.
I can't escape the lingering shadow of my father. His abuse, manipulation, and lies in my past, it all lies forever in my path.
Though he is dead, he still controls me through my memory of him.
My body, mind, and soul are still entangled in his sickness.
When I open my mouth to speak, my thoughts can't make it past the feeling of his hand across my face.
Forcing the air from my lungs, not in the form of words, but instead a gasp of pain.
When I wake up in the morning and try to get out of bed, I'm held in a prison of my own body, reminiscent of when I hid inside cabinets to escape his drunken rages. Hearing his footsteps getting closer, closer... making his way from one room to the next, the sound of my brothers shrieking screams and pleas, rendering me immobile. As I am now, under these sheets. MOVE. Get up. Get out of bed. I can't. I have tried so desperately to numb every thought, feeling, memory, in a futile attempt to escape him. And all that is left is an empty shell of a person, drained completely of a future and yet still full to the brim with my past.
This sweet sadness. I let myself sink into it, fill my throat, veins, and heart with it's morphine drip of melancholy
I can't escape the lingering shadow of my father. His abuse, manipulation, and lies in my past, it all lies forever in my path.
Though he is dead, he still controls me through my memory of him.
My body, mind, and soul are still entangled in his sickness.
When I open my mouth to speak, my thoughts can't make it past the feeling of his hand across my face.
Forcing the air from my lungs, not in the form of words, but instead a gasp of pain.
When I wake up in the morning and try to get out of bed, I'm held in a prison of my own body, reminiscent of when I hid inside cabinets to escape his drunken rages. Hearing his footsteps getting closer, closer... making his way from one room to the next, the sound of my brothers shrieking screams and pleas, rendering me immobile. As I am now, under these sheets. MOVE. Get up. Get out of bed. I can't. I have tried so desperately to numb every thought, feeling, memory, in a futile attempt to escape him. And all that is left is an empty shell of a person, drained completely of a future and yet still full to the brim with my past.
This sweet sadness. I let myself sink into it, fill my throat, veins, and heart with it's morphine drip of melancholy
Published 9th Aug 2017
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10th Aug 2017 1:05am
There comes a point in one's life when it is time to leave the past where it belongs.
If this is you, I wish you to find the path needed to do so.
Revealing write.
Welcome to the DUP
If this is you, I wish you to find the path needed to do so.
Revealing write.
Welcome to the DUP
14th Aug 2017 6:17am
The past is like a fishing hook in our necks, baiting us than reeling us in. For me memories are accursed things, trying to drag me back into the nightmare. I envy those who can say, "Just get over it." They make it sound so easy, don't they?
