The Scars Beneath These Tattoos

Shadow is a different breed of girl. Travel with her through the pages of her story! :)


1. Preface


    Sitting with old memories held close like cherished relics of a lifetime long ago, languid memories caressed the shadowed corners of my mind in sweet misery.  I let the darkness of the night veil itself upon me like a beloved linen hiding scuffs upon a well worn table.  There is no desire to entertain the pretenses of the future when the past has so lovingly wrapped itself around me like old ghosts that would much prefer to linger than to be pushed away to the recesses of nothingness.  I knew the ghosts of the past well.  Without me, they had nothing.  Without them, I had nothing.  At least we had each other, me and the memories lurking in my mind big enough, vast enough, to become a presence of entities of their own to take shape, give me comfort, and to give me just the right dose of anguish when happiness is far too heavy  a burden to bear or be born.

    Diligently nursing old wounds of the past, I thoroughly refused to let them go to properly heal.  Detesting the pain they cause, I felt like I had some kind of twisted sense of control by telling myself I chose to hold on to the infections of dead transgressions while blissfully denying they are truly the one with control.  I can’t, simply couldn’t, let go even if I wanted to.  I reveled in this dilapidated sense of normalcy that I clung to, for, if that was shattered, I would know not how to deal with anything more than what I currently held.  I was not free from the prison of my mind.  There was a deeply rooted part of me that would always be buried, never to be unearthed, nor to ever unshackle myself from.

    My heart began to race, thundered in my ears, and I fought to control my breathing and the burning in my chest.  I felt panicked as I pulled the comforter more tightly around me as I longed for arms I wouldn’t allow to hold me.  I panted breathlessly as I nervously licked my lips and longed painfully for the moment to pass.  Fear sank into the deepest pits of my stomach because I was at the mercy of my own mind.  Internally I begged myself to stop this and seek some kind of relief, yet I knew better than the dankest parts of me that it had to run its course.  I was rendered useless as sweat drenched my face and the valley of my breast that somehow contained the hammering of my heartbeat beneath.  I couldn’t speak despite any desire I could have ever fostered to give verbal life of the tumultuous emotions that filtered relentlessly from my head all the way down to my toes.

    At last, I felt a small sense of relief as the panic attack abated leaving my bed clothes soaked.  I didn’t have the energy to move to correct the sweat drenched linens.  I untangled myself from my covers in a fit of unrequited anger while fighting the sleep my body so desperately needed.  

    I cursed into the night.  Noooo….  The room went pitch black, and I was thrown beneath the mental images that exploded inside my head.  A horrible rerun I could repeat word for word, step for step, played perfectly for me to see.  Play by play, scene by scene, the last image spent itself.  The reality I usually ran from is now welcome.  

    Finally, I can saw the moonlight filtering through the curtains, and the flash back is gone.  I was restless in the wake of the powerful memories that played so accurately portraying those endless fateful moments from when the images had become burned on my memory like a brand.  I had the ability to get better, but I would never be free of the flash backs that cradled me ruthlessly, would never be free of the old wounds or the old ghosts that always whispered seductively:  

    Give up.  Let go.  Be free. 

    Yet, I was too exhausted to get up out of the bed to take the proper course of action to end it all.  Sleep robed me of consciousness and choice and would not allow me to stay awake.  The dreams always came just the same as the lingering old ghosts.  Sleep embodied a perpetual torture that battered my mind as mercilessly as the hands that used to batter my body.  “Please don’t let me wake until the morning light can chase away all these shadows.  Please…  Please don’t let me wake at all,” I begged.



When did I become so comfortable in my own misery, 
That I became a stranger to myself?
I’ve pushed everyone away from me,
And I’ve put my life upon the shelf.

I’m followed by the shadows of the past.
I wear the scars on my skin-
Covered beneath all these tattoos,
In an attempt to cover the sin.

These scars won’t go away,
They’re burned into my brain.
Memories of scars I keep locked up tight,
As all this time I’ve managed to stay sane.

When will I be free of the shadows?-
These shadows that will always remain.
Even if I find a way to be free,
Shadow is my name.

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