9/28 | 2.9.18 | February Writing Challenge

9/28 | February Writing Challenge

9. What is a memory you would like to erase?

Your hands on me in deathlike darkness,

corpselike stillness,

held down with an unfightable force,

visible yet invisible,

sheer disbelief and imaginary duct tape guarding my only way out. 

This memory sends me into screams in the middle of the night,

muffled by my own fist in my mouth, 

sometimes excused into the solace of the handicap stall.

The artificial light drew moths in, but kept me in the shadows, hidden from the outside world. 

We were always good at keeping each other hidden, for entirely different reasons. 

But on this night, more than ever, I wanted to be in the light.

There was a thin line of trust, always crossed, dusted off, constantly erased. 

It was finally broken that night, but the sickest part was that I let it get that far in the first place; that I drew lines when I should've built fences - close to touching but not close enough. 

My nightmares are made of this stuff; no longer sprinkled with fairy dust and happiness, but instead clouded with thoughts of hands on my bare skin, suffocated with the feeling of touch that scares me more than my feelings do.