Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Stop Instagram Communists 2K20

Dark nights never truly end.

Sometimes,

you are swept into a sea,

that is full of knives,

cold as ice,

and you will always be drowning,

even when you are on the shore,

shaking under foil blankets,

as voices all around you say that you’re safe.

You know that you’ll never feel that way again.

Wounds never heal,

if they don’t close,

dark nights never truly end,

when you’re done living them,

but you try to live,

because there’s nothing else to be done,

one foot in front of the other,

one step,

two steps…

You scream,

as loud sounds force their way under your skin,

you spend the night,

huddled at home,

wondering if you’ll ever be free,

finding yourself back at war,

as you wash the dishes,

legs and feet sore,

from phantom torture.

Your dreams are sickening scarlet,

spilling from your father,

brother,

from your own wounds,

that will never truly close,

because you have gone to places,

that were never supposed to be seen.

Running through the mountains,

calling out to clouds,

in hushed tones,

because your throat aches,

and you just want freedom.

You just want freedom,

sweet and so far away.

It came, in a sense,

but you were never truly free,

because memories are our own personal prison,

and you were locked up,

logging on,

to see cringe queens,

wearing the flag of your hell,

across lucky,

undisturbed chests.

Basic bitches sell trauma that they never owned,

convinced of their purity,

because being a bae for Bernie,

obviously absolves them of turning terror into their latest wares.

Standing at shop fronts,

holding up slavery,

torture,

rape and genocide,

and saying,

with a sick smile,

“We made the ISIS flag pink, so it’s aesthetic :)”

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