A living Struggle


I

I still want to, though I try not to think about it.
Cause if I do, I’ll crumble like an old rune ready to fall.
The pain is so new still,
Even if it has been years since.
My scares are a constant reminder of the nightmare that I’d put myself through, or maybe mom did.

II

It started out small.
A small clutching of the arms,
The beating of my pads against my blubbered flesh.
I hated myself then,
I hate myself now to the point of clawing my eyes out.
And just like the past, if I should die today nobody would care, will care.
I have no true friends, and I’ll never belong.

III

The soft line of red after too much sleep on my forearm and wrist.
I was too chicken to cut too deep.
But the lines turned to drops of thick liquid lava,
and long flowing rivers formed waterfalls from my pale beaten skin and dead pulsing heart.

IV

My heart still echos the long soulful blues.
The songs of the unloved wailed from my dry chapped lips,
calling to Gods with no flesh.
I was too weak to eat,
My bones ached and my flesh burned from the inside;
While the acid burned my teeth, and I sickenlly loved every bit of it.

V


I want to show you my very own plastination mold.
So you can see my black rotten liver that ignorance has brought.
All my scares are freshly open now,
Along with all the insecurities that trusties brought.
And all my maddening thoughts are brought to the front.
Only a thin lifeline on hope is all that stops
My savage slicing of my now golden skin.



By Linda Lopez



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