Stop

I used to think that I would find my
"happily-ever-after" one day
and my life would just stop.
 
The cutting would
stop.
The pain would  
stop.
The anger would
stop.
The sadness would just
stop.
 
When I was a little girl
I used to dream of a Prince Charming
who would come and save me
from the dragons and demons
that daily tear my skin and mind
to a hopeless, bloody pulp.
 
I used to wonder when my savior
would come to rescue me
from the hell my brain forces me to create.
He would pick me up in his strong arms and  
carry me away from the fire burning
just behind my eyes.
The torment would finally
stop.
 
I used to think that somewhere
there is someone with all of the answers.
Or someone, who will just hold me
while I scream and cry.
 
But, through the years,
after all of the agony multiplied  
as I got older, I realized
that it does not exist.
The knives and blades
and ache of losing my precious innocence
and freedom and life,
haunt me.
 
Every day,
the voices continue to scream my name;
slutwhorebitchcunt.
The demons slice and chop
until they see blood,
and then tear at my fragile skin some more.
 
One day, my "Prince" did come,
in a form I was least expecting.
He fought and fought the demons,
he slayed the dragon with the knife  
I used against my own body.
Holding onto my fragile mind and body,
he whispered in my ear,
"You know you're just so pretty in your pain."
He tossed my vulnerable body back into  
the fiery, dark depths of despair
and left me to die.
 
I guess it's what I deserved  
wanting everything
to  
just
s t o p.