invisible arrows
There's not a day that goes by, she's not sitting on my mind, crying out about the corpses I've left behind. "Oh won't you remember them, remember the blood on your hands, remember how the flesh felt! Oh how romantic was the knife you held!" These wounds left by her children, they hurt in ways I cannot fathom. Each arrow that pierced me stung and spilt and smoked and disappeared in a cloud of dust. One. Two. Three hits. Hazier and hazier. Four. Five. Six hits. I can't see anymore. I can only hear her cries when I lie in bed at night. She begs me to listen, "Just please listen, wouldn't it be easier to just listen?" I hear talk of tales grim, cathartic fantasies, my life is no longer my responsibility. Oh what a relief that would be, I wasn't much good with it anyway. Someday I may lose my mind and take her hand, so when I pack my bags and leave, please think of me as the girl who gave in and submitted to her reality.