the stories my body tell are shaped with lies that left my bones deaf. blind in a world where light is supposed to guide you. mute in a place where words are the spear to survival. disarmed by trust. left damaged in the corner of a room, one that was cold but that i began to call home because i was too scared to leave. leave, to the uncertainty of life where other monsters awaited with their knives high. pointing at me.
but in this room at least i knew my monster and i could predict every attack, every bruise. i learned to lick my own blood from the wounds that he left, but forgot to cleanse my heart, so now it lies there, rotten. rotten and caged in my chest. cursed by the distorted thoughts i left unattended for too long. and now what? the room is empty and there's no monster, no heart. i'm deaf from the shouts of those who once cared. so ashamed i tremble in shock as i walk outside and the guns are down. but i'm cold, and alone, and i wonder if i will ever find another room where my wounds can become scars, and my scars tattoos. tattoos that speak about my story louder than my voice. a voice that i lost. long ago.
when i believed in a love that wasn't love at all.