Copyright Wicked

I am a victim.
Though aren’t we all?
A victim to the memories that erode my mind.
Though don’t we all have memories?
I am a victim of society that rapes its young into believing the facade of happiness.
Soothing words from a comforting mother leave me wanting to gag.
The fake tears she sheds leave a vile and foul trail along my shoulder.
The whole world sleeps while I am awake, vunerable to the creatures and monsters of the night.
My tired eyes have yet to close and rest.
My skin is deprived of a tender touch.
My own hands find no comfort as they trace each broken scar.
I am a victim.
A victim of this place that allows me to hurt myself so much.
A mother’s love kills me slowly.
I am longing to find something real to hold onto.
I am a victim of my own mind.
A vitcim of thoughts that push reality to the side.
Aren’t we all?


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