IRENA // D5 // CBD1
Dec 28, 2020 9:45:04 GMT -5
Post by Cait on Dec 28, 2020 9:45:04 GMT -5
They told me the day they took my daddy away was the fifth day – that I didn’t wake up until a week later. I remember screaming, but there was no noise. Muscle memory forcing my mouth open to let my heart bleed out in anticipation of the recovery that always follows, always. I’m in pain, always, but in an infirmary, they specialise in agony. That was the first time I felt alive: with an endless stream of liquid gold running through my veins. Something burning, harsh enough to bury the holes in my heart. Painful. New. Addictive. One more day. Just one more day, then I’ll find mama, cover her grave in dandelions, never leave her side. One more day. One more week. One more month. And I left, eventually. But then, the loneliness sets in. The pain, an old relentless friend. Morphling long gone, stealing away any chance of surviving this lifetime. Pain makes you do stupid shit. The first time I visited him was the last time I saw him. Even in purgatory his fists bruised my skin enough to colour me violet. Reflected in his eyes, no remorse. Just my mother’s blood ran cold. They locked my daddy up nice and tight behind a cage of snakes standing guard, crawling up my wrists like armour. Bodies soft yet poisonous, and it feels safer, even if they were too late. Damage done. That night I fell asleep in a stranger’s bed with a once-filled vial clutched between desperate fingers. I’ve lost more of myself than I ever had to begin with. The days are numbered with hieroglyphs and the clouds have been screaming my name for thirty-seven hours on repeat. With shaking hands and held breath, I close my eyes and succumb to the drone of silence. |
