Past Despair

Ambiance: Out to Sea - Ólafur Arnalds.

I used to dream of Past's face.

Not constantly. But intermittently.

Eyes like dark heavens.

Twisted body, boarish and desiccate.

Unwanted hands.

Saccharine words, uncomprehended.

Sick mind and all that.

I let Him win.

Indefinitely.

A nightmare, mind you,

showing me in distorted little moments,

seconds,

minutes,

eternity

my very own,
deepest fears.

I let Him win.

Indefinitely.

A yes stretched in the tilt of my neck.

A nightmare again, I cry;

drenched in sweat and fear.

I swallow both bile and despair.

Now, I say to myself,
if I ever see Past's face

in dreams

or reality

I will bludgeon the fucker!

Bastard!

Pervert!

A hell he deserves!

Never again. Never again.

Never again, I whisper

most tenderly,

most softly

like the mother I still crave

to the little girl inside of me.