I’m about to get dark, not in my usual way, with vague comments on my life, dim complexities,
I’m about to dive in with why I write with this pen, it’s a theme, a trend, a coping mechanism,
but not just that,
a replacement of something gruesome and painful, a habit hateful and shameful, hidden from view of the stable,
took that toothbrush from its holder, made it my purging tool, for years feeling I was able to release what felt like a poison volcano,
just to stuff it again, an endless void felt within, cycles of masochism, anxiety, depression, unworthy delusion,
dysmorphia in the mirror, voices inside of sheer terror, no wonder I ended up there,
and while those cycles have faded, I still must purge with my words, can’t seem to keep them in long, can’t keep my voice from being heard, or the blood from my pen, the tears that leak on the page, emotions all in their range, sadness, joy, anger, rage,
they burn becoming stronger, as logs get thrown on the fire, I’ll throw myself on the pyre, until I lose all desire –

until my soul stops caring.

Emily ©


10 thoughts on “Purge

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