Scars between my legs: Story #1
I can’t help the pain that stings my body and drives my mind insane. The gentle yet sharp needle injects a demon into my soul. A demon I call heroin. It temporarily comforts those lonely nights inside this hotel room. Cockroaches crawl through the cracks while the old paint crumbles slowly from the walls. The air conditioner is broke, so my room is an eternal sweatshop. Sadness corrupts my mind with acid rain melting away my self-esteem. Various men with sexual intentions visit this room daily. They pay my bills and feed the demon inside. My 6-month-old baby cries constantly as he watches mommy strip her pride and dignity away.
I cry on the inside and moan on the out as the men rip through my body. It’s funny how being raped as a kid can turn you into a sexual monster. I cry every night while suicide massages my shoulders and seduces me. It calls me like a wolf howling at the moon. It echoes dark voices with deception in its tone. I cry out blood curling screams, as my mind finally snaps in two.
The pistol in my nightstand cries for me. It wants me to hug its cold, shiny body. I put the gun to my head as it whispers, “yes,” into my ear. I can no longer take this soul devouring pain. I’m squeezing the trigger; Goodbye.
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