Twisted

Every scene that haunts me

Stays inside my head

Lurks behind the curtains

Impending sense of dread

It’s lingering behind me

It’s watching whilst I sleep

It’s calling out my name

But when I turn

There’s just a heap, of black and tattered remnants

Laying strewn across the ground

Motionless and sinister 

I lost that won’t be found

Amongst the flowers

There’s a body

Laying prone so frail and cold

A scream that rings inside my heart

A story never told

dark trauma it consumes me

drips into my mouth

fills me up and drains my soul

Tears me up and spits me out.

A cymbalta victim.

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