7-The Primrose Path

As Ashley continues to open up about her feelings toward her abuse in the foster system, a hidden message is revealed in her thoughts and emotions. A message best heeded.

The Primrose Path

In this very hour, I solemnly pledge,

To revive the child that died so many deaths.

What I have forgotten cannot maul me,

A last resort for sanctity.

Surrender all paused memories.

Nocturnal violation opens long lost wounds.

Opiating any lust for life,

To retrospection and strife.

My skin burns like all the boundaries crossed.

Yearning for a stepping stone, and all the virtues lost.

For the child that bought affection,

A human heart that craved admiration. 

Unfold your tongue and break the hold,

Like lungs that deserve suffocation.

Turning all objections to pure silence.

The silence is your wading weapon,

Hold this soul no more.

Ecstasies of unpenned rage,

Yearn to be spoken off the empty page.

Cursed is the ground on which I walk,

And tainted is the only touch I can give.

Never again will I feel so small,

Never again feel like nothing at all.

Over the lines of faded chalk,

To the courage to live but never forgive.

Hearken to the sound of shame,

Under what once was a smile.

Requiem for a lecherous game,

Trembling provocations of my name.

Mourning everything I thought I knew,

Enter into your perversion of the truth.

Another lie baked like crumbling cake,

Nowhere to hide but in the wrath of aftermath.

Yielding all the laughs I’d promised I would fake.

Moments out of time contaminate my primrose path,

Of narcotics proven too weak to kill the ache.

Razor-sharp words echo into internal bloodbath.

Enter into perdition.

I can’t burn your bitemarks from my soul!

And Oh how I’ve tried.

My pantomime with no words to hide.

Now the world can see the writings of disgrace,

Overcome all their beliefs.

Trying to care but knowing their place.

And somehow now I am a relish,

Like a toy that all the toddlers yearn.

Objection to a dreary fetish,

Nearly a lesson to learn.

Edges of a bridge that must be burned.

I can’t wash your essence from my skin!

As time ages on, so do I.

My heart learns to live on and try.

Adapt to the arm’s length of this twisted globe.

Survivor’s guilt surrounds the record playing loud,

Under a timeless state of conflict.

Ran enough to need to stay,

Value the consolation of the shroud.  

Imagine the pain of the faceless crowd.

Violent kisses time can inflict,

Over the mountains and far away,

Rests my heart on a paper cloud.