In the Shadow of Sunlight
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Written from the perspective of an individual that endured narcissistic abuse. Narcissts are perfect at gaslighting and ensuring their victims cannot see beyond their sanctuary of torment. And it isnt always the same experience for all. This is inspired by " in the shadow of sunlight" contest hosted by Edward Ibeh
When wounds keep seeping,
dawn continues to unfold~
blurred projections
engrossed in dishonesty.
And I wonder if the tulip moon
could see the ash and dust dancing
across the blue azure,
mirroring the smeared lens of life,
where the bitterness
of torment I’ve endured,
alone in agony to the sound of
scars that bleed,
is the familiar fragrance I’ve worn,
while dressed in cobalt cold comfort,
oblivious to the jewels of jasmines
that await my ethereal escape
from this confined cruelty.
Yet in the shadow of sunlight,
when fears drizzle upon
weeping waves like obsidian cinders,
I burn from the villainous rays
that shift and crawl
in a writhing pattern,
to seize glistening galaxies
within my powerless pulses,
as I am the tragic flare of twilight,
resting in a mahogany
bed of lifeless lilies,
listening to the cursed cadence
of metallic melodies,
chanted by a narcissistic puppeteer
with soulless eyes,
mocking the ruthless reality
he fed me with finer fangs.
Tonight I plead to the Universe:
unfreeze the glacier walls—
obscuring streaks of serenity,
for I’ve long been bruised and battered,
in the warm embrace
of a roseate romance that melted
into a lethal lake of rotten red.
If being coiled within the doleful helix
of redundant violence
is what the future shall unveil
in sinful scribes,
am I to stay chained in silence,
or are these the storms I shall ferry,
like an odyssey lost in
the hypocrisy of sinister seas,
too aimless to seek a shore
whiter than the ivory
ladders to the Elysium.
Perhaps the world must witness
the tattooed trauma
I hide behind woes of broken vows,
unable to find the key to unlock
silver gateways to healing,
as I’ve dreamt that
eagle feathers of the deceitful sun
would wrap me in
sepals of solace so radiant,
unaware of the conceited clouds
bursting forth blistering thistles.
But I no longer want to remain
as the mistress of misery,
woven into the realms
of grammatical errors,
scattered across illiterate skies
unraveling vain verses in vermilion.
I’ll rise from the inked inferno,
be the untamable mystery
soaring above seething syllables.
So let the pain I’ve tasted
be the air of the spirit
that sets my angst free.
I’ll paint my own paradise
where stains shall
sprout seamless fields,
and vicious vines will
thrive as violet orchids.
Someday the eclipsed spheres would realize,
seeing the twinkling topaz within me.
My silence was never a token of defeat;
I am more than a victim,
trapped in the flashbacks of your abuse,
I refuse to ride the sickening
carousel of unending oppression.
Copyright © Ink Empress | Year Posted 2024
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