2019.
2020.
And again, in 2022.
Three times.
You count again.
You use your fingers to count.
One.
Two.
Three.
It happened to you three times.
Fool me once, fool me twice…
Fooled thrice?
Surely you’re the problem, the common denominator.
You don’t know what to do with this.
If you’ll ever be able to put it down.
You’re angry.
You dont believe that you’re not even a little bit,
At fault,
Isn’t it always your fault? Three times?
They never asked you,
What you wanted.
They don’t need you.
You’re painfully jealous.
And the monster is always just a few paces behind you,
Breathing down your neck,
Waiting for you to tire,
Ready to pounce.
For the fourth time, maybe.
Your body clutches onto that memory with a grip of stone.
Never mind the shaking,
Never mind the weight.
The jokes, the dismissal, the conversations.
Even your home,
Isn’t safe.
The predator has broken down the gates.
And entered.
Against your will.
Against your screams and struggles and cries.
All in vain.
Leaving you,
Sleeping walking.
Watching yourself, from above,
Putting on a flawless show as always.
The cracks are starting to show.
You search for the super glue.
Surrounded by violence your entire life,
You learned that things,
Break. Easily & often.
In your failure to keep everyone safe.
To prevent the injustices.
To do anything meaningful.
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