painting by Ian McKeever
You say you have.
But you really haven't
I can tell
by the smothered
undertones
of your gag reflex
that have become reverberant
Yes.
It hurt.
Yes.
They were wrong.
But their wrongs
have stayed with
you
living between
your bosom
with every passing
wisp of air
you have conditioned
yourself
to ruminate on their songs.
You chew
and rip it
apart,
a stale meal
with fresh wounds
every day,
you reminisce
and murmur
almost hungering
to remember
the words that
you long to hear
echo, from
the belated rebuttals
you now say.
Victim for a moment
has evolved into
a victim for life
that begs
to be wounded
continually
by what
you eagerly
refuse to digest
inside.
Because if its
digested
it will
eventually
be wasted
and if its
wasted
you'll think
that there
was no justice.
But justice
was never founded
on your perceptions.
It was always based
on where you focus
your own direction.
After the fact.
After the pain,
after choosing to
break out of this place
where their aftermath
remained.
For by living through
them
you continually
die,
and its frightening
that you voluntarily
close your eyes to
avoid seeing just
how intimately you've
become adjusted
to this daily suicide.
Your feed
is tainted
devoid of nutrition
harmful
to your soul
slowly decaying
from its
poisoned submissions
that has stunted
your growth
regardless of needing
your admission,
your soul is
slowly decaying
from its
poisoned submissions
that has stunted
your growth
regardless of needing
your admission;
because each day
you willingly welcome
this transient infiltration.
Unable to
Spit. It. Out.
Once and for all.
Face the pain.
Look at where your
chips fell…
so far from where
you intended them to fall.
Now,
step away
and
walk past the shame
of what hurt,
who's to be blamed,
what it was
what it now is.
Your future
was meant to be changed
by the brimstones'
mocking laughter
the sear of the furnace
and the evils of personified disaster;
take the lessons
that this hell has taught you,
and use it to teach another
who you never knew
would need you.
Use the lessons
that this hell has taught you,
and teach another...
how to fight
even though one suffers
how to rise
even though one is lowered
how to smile
even though its over
how to love again
even though before
it was not
treasured...
how to look at your charred
being
and embrace the light
that still flickers gently
through its smoked filled dreams
that were meant to glow
in the darkest of nights.
Walking away
becomes easier with
each step;
even if
taken shaking
it must be done.
For your destiny,
the one you've shielded
yourself from;
was never
meant to be tied
to your
regurgitations.
My
Inspiration: Dinner and a Movie
© KohylahPiper 2015
