When darkness falls

and a thousand thoughts, a million questions weigh on my heart,

I glance at the sky and look for the moonlight,

the pale glow that lightens up the night.

Sometimes I find it;

sometimes I don’t.

Sometimes I try and run beneath it,

feel the wind against my skin

and let my heart race my thoughts down the darkened streets,

towards nothing and no one,

for no purpose but to take it all in.

 

I was told to sit with my sorrow,

to taste the pain, swirl it around like you would nicely aged Scotch,

and let it burn on my soul.

I was told to look fear in the eye and not flinch,

to take it into my heart with acceptance,

to not feel ashamed of the way it strips me down to my core.

I was told to experience all my feelings,

to let them wash over me the way surf washes over sand.

 

So when the green-eyed monster knocked on my door,

I invited him in,

though my fingers trembled as they disengaged the lock.

When he saw me, drunk and bare,

he threw me down on the ground,

pushed my head back and pinned my limbs down,

and I was helpless against him.

Again, I invited him in,

for I was beyond caring.

There, in an empty hallway of existence,

at a time suspended between moments,

he entered me,

and his member was steel cold and razor sharp.

Again and again he thrust that blade into the center of my being,

till the porous rocks beneath us were soaked with blood.

I stared up at nothing, savoring the pain

and the feeling of warm blood as it trickled down my thighs.

Pinned beneath him, I could neither scream nor cry.

I opened my mouth but could make no sound.

I squeezed shut my eyes but could find no tears.

When, finally, he was satisfied,

he withdrew from my body and walked out the door.

 

There, through the opening, I could see dawn’s filtered light,

casting the world in shades of indigo grey.

In a flash of insight, I saw why my heart hurt so,

and the tears that flowed then washed away the blood.

I wept in silence on a tree-lined street,

bathed in morning light.