There are demonic hands digging deep into my stomach, gripping with a hate so strong.
I can feel their fingers twisting and turning my intestines, binding them to that sadistic roller coaster for yet another ride, a feeling I thought would never plague me again.
A disease that circulated so helplessly throughout my teenage veins, its origin and everything it stood for still foreign and unattainable.
Its brief absence something of a godsend (too bad God turned his back), even as I travel pass the gates of Hell his presence cannot be found, for it was never there to begin with.
I have lived with you for six years and yet I cannot help but flinch at your touch, something I know will never truly subside, the very though of spending the rest of my days with you only tightens my insides even more.
Despite everything you are, all the pain you have caused and all you have yet to bring, I would not have it any other way for you have taught me to be strong where others may have faltered, a lesson I know I could not thank you enough for.
The external is nothing compared to the internal.
© Copyright October 2016