Locked Door.

Photobucket Rising up from a pool of blood that has dried to my skin, I’ve been in this room so long it feels like the blood is seeping in. I’ve felt abandoned, yet abused; taken for granted, but very confused. It’s been three years I’ve been locked inside this room, with only my anger, pity, self-loathing and a broom; so I can sweep up the old memories I’ve been getting so use to. I walk over to the door, to give it one last pull, before I scream my lungs out once again, just hoping to be let through. “God are you out there?” I screamed incessantly, but all I heard in reply, was my echo ringing endlessly. But I’ll do what it takes to escape this place, three years to life; will be worth the wait. The doors are locked for a good reason, I’m sure of this by now, so there’s no since, in even thinking of knocking them down. He has my life planned out much better then me, his ways are confusing, but a beautiful mystery.

2 thoughts on “Locked Door.

    • I don’t know. Personally when I think of stories, I think of paragraphs at a time… I guess that’s why I left it block form. I’ll probably separate it next time, to help with the reader’s rhyming.

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