Abuse: a horror story.

Excerpts from the book I'll never write.

Losing again.

After having sapped the breath out of me, you stored it in a glass mason jar,
you always thought you were so clever, didn’t you.
Maybe you were because I never could find it and died in the hallway.
Games, puzzles, mazes you’d try to find something,
anything to distract you from the boredom this life had become but these trifles would never suffice,
so you made a game out of me,
I’d become your Muse to say the least.
Buried my legs upside down in the backyard, fulfilling your hellish desires,
You’d cut off my arms and put them in place of the antlers of the deer head you shot just last week,
taunting me into retrieving them, reveling in my inability to do so.
They’d find fingernails undissolved in the porridge you cooked up
and my fingers pointing them toward our bedroom.
(Didn’t you tell them…

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