Bleeding

Our hidden parts are being unwrapped and we are unravelling.
 
The powerful mind sits on its throne and orders us to act. We act without protection.
 
No place to walk. No people to see. No distraction. No party. No smoke.
 
It orders us to slowly open the parts we’ve made small; tucked away in the recesses.

Fear takes over and manifests our discomfort in ways only our smallest selves remember.
 
Opened.
 
And the blood pours out as if a wound had never healed.

We bleed our trauma on everything in our wake. Bloody fingers typing awful words into the world.

The throne grows larger speaking orders of the ugly. Smiling. Ego.
 
How much do we hate ourselves?
 
How long has it been tucked away?
 
All is left is the raw truth of our inner children.
 
Unable to mop the pain away, we sit in our pool of ego and revel; feeling like winners. But what have we won?
 
There’s still blood on your hands.

Your own.

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