by Megen Berg
The phone call came,
the prison door was open,
an escape route was in plain sight.
Dare I free myself from this shitty life?
My bones,
they ached,
my body was weak.
These bricks on my back,
I can no longer carry.
My arms so thin,
my legs had shakes,
my skin became so dry.
Fragile became this flesh of mine.
Release me from this pain
that dwells and thrives deep inside
and cages this physique of mine,
becoming the essence of my being.
No more tears to cry,
nothing left inside,
except these demons
trapped inside my mind.
Exhaustion had consumed me,
there was no more fight inside,
nobody could see the war was brewing,
inside these walls of mine.
All they could see…
was a junkie.
I didn’t think twice,
I ran with the chance.
He had the key that opened those gates.
The magical formula,
the end all to suffering,
the secret I know I must keep.
Death is a spell,
the ingredients I possessed,
for the potion to put me to sleep,
and quiet the screams I hear in the silence.
Because didn’t you know,
those demons are scars,
left with each blow to my face,
and the kicks to my back,
or the words that you’ve said,
that have stayed in my head.
She was better off dead.