Regression

Flickering memories of crimson-stained water,
light gliding along a sharp edge,
smooth porcelain,
torrential downpours.

Lightning-strike images of rusted dressings,
stains,
lies to hide the truth,
fear of being caught—
fear of being sent… “there.”

Physical pain,
tactile memories.
Of the sting.
Of the emotional bullshit draining away.
Of the warm water striking the newly-formed memories,
setting them in stone.
Organic tattoos.

A knife through the heart,
also physically painful,
at even becoming that person again…
Even during the day,
there was only darkness.
Then light was found.
Though it was fading away once again.

Tears.
Desperately fighting to stay away,
shutting out everything feeding into a downward spiral into the void.
Not again.
Nearly a year free.
Last time…,
that voice.
Not again.

Resistance wearing thin.
Beginning to contemplate…
That voice was a fluke.
Messy, but…
Worked.
Always.
Shouldn’t, but…
Worked.
Always.

Falling blind again.
The sun was already setting just as it rose.
Couldn’t hold on much longer.
Had to stay awake.
Nothing else working anymore.
…Back to the bad habit left behind three times…?
Fighting,
but perhaps,
futile.

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Author: Elendarin

Student pursuing a degree in psychology with a concentration in clinical psych. I enjoy writing, watching baseball, foreign languages, and being a massive nerd.

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