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Belladonna Field
Good night, old friend.
Hush and sleep.
I’m here as long as we can pretend.
Even after you leave.
If pain is a gateway to the soul,
then my dreams deem your words the key to such a portal
I just can’t tear my eyes away
your blunt nails puncturing skin, their purpose ugly lines
If I could I would rasp a scripted farewell
envelop the spirits you trapped here frame to frame
but the jeers swimming in your Cheshire smile bleed a crimson too real
maybe I should rejoice, this house now a home – not a belladonna field.
But it never will be unlike a cage
twenty years, two decades, one fear, no apology
a few tears won’t erase the scars on her arms
you the forefront, I the ignorant, and she the child in Omelas
I’m terrified I’m grieving a vile sadist
the people surrounding me either love or hate, curse or forgive,
they don’t understand what it’s like
to miss someone so soul-crushingly cruel.
Copyright ©
Hiba Junaid
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