My skin smells of smoke
reminding me of how they lit my dreams to flames
and let them burn to ashes.
They have dragged my soul through mud
drenching every inch of it with pain,
while their evil laughter echoed throughout my body.
I hear their voices in dreams of mine,
talking quietly to me upon how I was never enough,
comparing me to rotten flowers in mid october.
Back then, when they lit my dreams to flames,
I was too small to comprehend their satanic words,
but today I can still smell the scent of my burned skin.
You see, the ashes have been the fertilizer for the flower I have become,
it made me grow in depth, with heavy roots and vivid leaves.
But there are days where I feel like drowning,
nights in which I can still hear their sad voices,
moments of despair and fear.
It is in moments like these
in which I float in the darkest of my memories
like a lost pearl in the wide and bobbing sea.
But I am still shining.
Jehona Thaqi ©