Abuse

Her eyes rolled back to view the inside of her eye lids. The darkness was better than what was only seconds away from killing her. The first three minutes caused flashes of gold dust to float inside and outside of her crowded mind. The one that told her to get away. The one that told her to run. But the numbness in her legs wouldnt let her go anywhere. The blinding flashes kept her from stepping foot outside the house. Along with knowing she could never return. And if she did, everything would unfold each day like it always does. So she stayed with her eyes glued shut, sitting with her back against the wall, knees close to her chest, and the door locked waiting for the next rumble. She sat on the cold, wet tile floor for half the night scared to open her eyes. Scared to see what was done to her. Scared to see the problem. The house was flooded with anger and alcohol. The living room was lined with newspapers and holes. The kitchen carried thick, sharp glass in every inch of it's floor. It's too late to try and patch it all up now. The air vents we're tighly bound shut. She had no oxygen. She had no lungs. She had no conscious.



She had the backs of her eye lids, she had the painful dust in her head, and the bathroom floor...outlined with homocide.