Escape Artist.

I know a firefly whose light can never stay lit.
Your demonic spawn drain the life out of her quickly and efficiently till she is left flying aimlessly with no way to see what’s in front of her.
You had your weapons and your threats and your self mutilatory tactics.
It was indeed a nice show for one.
But you wanted me to be part of the act.
I was bound with your manipulation, your verbal and emotional abuse:
“You’re the kind of girl that a guy wants to fuck but doesn’t want to be seen with.”
“I made you.  No one would ever want you before I was with you.”
“Tell them how good I am to you.”
“I would kill myself if you ever left.”
I heard all of it with my head pointed in the other direction.
What’s worse is that I listened, I believed.
The fabric foundation was set in place.
But to really convince the audience that this is not a sham, more must be added.
So you added the death threats, the grabbing, the pulling, the pinching, the slapping, the beating, the raping, the punching, the stalking, the harassing, the cutting, the shoving, THE.
And then you shoved me in the water.
Have you ever felt what it was like to drown?
It’s like a feeling of desperation and hopelessness coupled with an intense burning and frantic anxiety.
You know you are going to die.
But the escape artist needs to perform another day, even if it is a small crowd.
She twists and turns and contortions until the layers unravel and she can swim to the top.
He will live to enchant the audience another day.  Unfortunately.
And she will get the fuck out of the water.
I know a firefly whose light can never stay lit.
Maybe one day she’ll pick up speed and escape the grasp of your brethren.
I pray.



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