Smothered Screams & Scribbles

on

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he veils her lips with his virile hands,

rerouting the screams,

and for years after,

the screams stay trapped inside her soul instead,

playing tricks on her hallucinating mind,

raising havoc, conversing with death –

begging for blades to carve an exit route.

Each memory turns black,

blurred and distorted –

averting the remnants of the soul

in a to an abyss of

unrequited seclusion.

Hope; the nemesis of the grim,

– the first light.

Hope; scribbles of a stranger,

etched on to the corners of a

faded note,

resting against a mirror

in an unkempt public restroom.

words she no longer recall

yet, somedays still that

first snippet of clarity

overwhelms with a promise

better days.

Prologue:

Ecdysis of the fucking body.

Metamorphosis of the fucking soul.

the screams of help that were

smothered that night,

regurgitate.

surfacing from within.

Only to be suffocated again,

by the hands of camaraderie

with whispers of blame,

and insinuations of guilt

reduced to a woman of sin.

he had entered without permission,

but god forbid, she spoke out of turn.

her scars were not Art by popular decree,

and her pain was the cawing of a thousand crows.

But with gritted teeth she screams,

making Art across the canvas

defying the veil

for she knew her purpose;

to spread the scribbles of a stranger

etched on to the corners of a

faded note,

resting against a mirror

in an unkempt public restroom.

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