Dear Agony

“You don’t like me,” she screamed.
“Why are you following me then? It makes no sense to want to spend time with someone you hate,” she added.

She stood in the mirror of her bedroom. The reflection was her greatest dread. Using a sheet, she tossed the covering over the glass, shielding herself from his view. Those prying eyes cut her to the bone every time she came back. No more would she allow him the joy of her tears. If he couldn’t see, he would never know how she wept for his memory. How could she care about someone who cut her to the bone with each word he spilled. He called it love. Society would call it abuse.

A muffled voice from beneath the sheet sent the cotton threads blowing in the wind. Delicate words meant to entice, he knew the key to her flesh was the enticement of her mind. He was an enigma for her broken dreams, using each nightmare to taunt her into crying out for his release.

“Shut up!” she screamed.
“You don’t own me anymore,” her voice cried.

Swiftly, a frigid chill crept up her spine. The malicious calls from the past would forever remain a sorrowful reminder that she would never find happiness to sedate her agony.

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