“My body was never a temple,
but a graveyard. And every grave has
a demon to call home.”
My body was never a temple, but a graveyard. One of those long forgotten fields, scattered with centuries-old tombstones. Some so weathered with time that the names are no longer legible. Some so stained from years of neglect. And the grounds have overgrown with vines and weeds, leaving some graves invisible.
This is how my body remembers all I’ve endured. Some scars are so deep, they’ve been covered through time. Some are just inside. And these demons of mine. They each have a grave to call their home.
© Sarah Doughty
They haunt me.