Pain

Thats all there is anymore you know.

Nothing but nails scraping across the pink flesh of an open wound.

YA I'M SCREAMING AT YOU ASSHOLE! DO YOU HEAR ME?

Probably not, they never listen.

Everyone has a need, or a want. Why does it have to be me?

I hate him. I hate the memory of him. Day in, day out. Always there.

Of course I like hearing about his pain. But the questions. I hate the questions.

"did you really do that?"

I was ignorant then. I didn't know. I was a whore. His whore. I meant nothing........even when at the time he meant everything.

I like his suffering, infact I love it.

The daily reminders that I am but a dream, and will forever be one, and that it hurts him. Everyone has pleasure from someones pain, especially when it's a person who caused them pain.

But the questions.

I don't want to remember. It sickens me. Makes me feel dirty, used, raped. How do I escape it?

I can't run, I tried but it doesn't work.

My only escape seems to be sleep.

Death isn't an option, I have too many kids to care for, and that isn't including Satan.

So now what?

I wish I was in a coma......I don't want to remember.

Because with the memories, comes the feelings......and the feelings bring the pain.

How many times must I be reminded of the rejection?

Or the sodomy?

Or the lies?

Or the tears?

It's too much. I feel like a dirty, useless, whore.

IVY

Quiet-Bitch!

~WTF?~ - Saturday, Mar. 25, 2017
~Relaxation~ - Tuesday, Sept. 01, 2015
~The hunt is on.~ - Tuesday, Aug. 04, 2015
~Sometimes~ - Friday, Mar. 21, 2014
~Fawk~ - Tuesday, Jan. 07, 2014