These not so vacant walls

These not so vacant walls

Sept 2^nd, 2005

Walking these vacant halls of my past and my future, vicious memories sprint into my non-existing brain. The bruises that no longer colour, and the cuts that no longer bleed, are forever seared onto my skin, and the tingling of my un-deserved discipline is forever marked across my behind. I no longer feel the need to cower in these halls, nor the need to cry. For cry I cannot do. No tears may escape these eyes. For eyes I do not restrain. I hold the sense of sight in my grasp, and yet I cannot look at anything, nor touch anything. Why does she not hear me? I hold the sense of speech. But only to those who listen carefully. Does she not listen, did she not care? I try to reach out and push over a vase of purple lilies, her favorite. Maybe then I will receive some attention; maybe then my unheard screams of fury will be recognized, except, my hand just passes right through. She is so tormented, and I cannot save her. All I may do is make it harder for him, harder for him to wound her. I walk up the stairs, hearing the first signs of the battle to be waged. Maybe this will be the last. Maybe, she will soar once again, be free. Maybe she will come back to me. I walk into the room, seeing the pain spread across her face. I know she never wanted me to see this, she always hid it from me, never thinking that I was receiving the same treatment she did not deserve. But now that I am liberated, she cannot stop me. Her emotion starts to spread to weakness, as I see her fall to the floor. I want to see this, terrorizing as it is to see the one who carried you for so long, being harmed. Day after day, night after night, I see this taking place. How is she so strong, how is she so brave. Those are the thoughts that I used to think of my mother, but now, after seeing these scenarios taking place, I’ve realized that I was thinking wrongly. She is not brave. She is scared, and timid. She has been led on, and taken down. Her vivacious spirit has been cut down the middle, and now has no wings to take her away. This is why I stay. For I know that when her end comes, she will need wings to take her to where she belongs, and I plan to be those wings. So I stay, walking down these terrifying halls filled with sorrow, a ghost forever to haunt, the man who harmed my carrier. The man, who should, instead of me, be dead.