Things are different now. On the outside I remain the same, but my insides are engulfed in flames. I am choking on the smoke; by smoke I mean the toxic poison that dripped from your tongue and filled every crevice of my body with pure hatred. But your words; as cruel and harsh as they may have been, don’t even compare to what you did that night.

         It is true, actions do in fact speak louder than words. Maybe that is why this one specific incident stung worse than swallowing the broken glass that you forced down my throat. I tried to cough up the glass; but I refrained, in fear that I might open up an old wound. My body was a blank canvas, yet to be touched by a bristle of a paint brush. Untouched turned to touched and Soon enough my canvas was full of gloomy and dull colors. My body, my choice, although this wasn’t my choice. You are the devil himself; the flames of hell pierce through your eyes as you stare into my soul, begging for me not to tell. Don’t worry, I haven’t and I won’t. I stay silent; not for my sake, but for yours.

        My grip tightens as I clench my fists together, struggling to fight back. I inhale and then exhale. I have indents on my palms from where my nails eat away at the skin. These curved scars are a constant reminder of the pain that you've caused me. My canvas is a million different shades of black and blue. You may forgive yourself, but I will never forgive you.