“Sometimes, in dreams,
I wonder if hell keeps you in its grasp.
But I’ve never wished for it.”
The sound of your rumbling voice still lingers on my tongue like a rotted apple, writhing with maggots. That print of your palm on my reddening face still burns like a nest of fire ants, just as the rest of my body refuses to forget everything else. Scars covered beneath endless scars. Memories submerged in obsidian oil, surfacing only to taunt me. It is here, in this moment, with black roses surrounding your unmarked grave, that I revel in your suffering with a small smile and a gleam in my eye. A faint whisper escapes me. “I win.” Then I wake up and remember once more.
© Sarah Doughty
I won. And that will never change.
In some ways, the anger that I held for you has melted away. Despite the dreams, I would never wish for anyone to receive eternal torment. Yes, even him.
Photo is mine