Ball of Twine

Freedom comes at a price. No matter the color that stains that freedom.

I can’t breathe
What comes out of my lungs
Is only anger
Puffing
Huffing
Heating my blood.
I am the victim
Of a horrible crime
Only describable
As hate
Disguised
As love.
I cannot fathom
How my feelings
Would look
If each experience
Was a shade of red or blue twine
Strung together
Building up
Into a large
Ball
Of pain;
The shades becoming darker
And darker
As time wore on
And disguised hate
Continues
To peel
Back
The sanity.
The shades
Are so dark
They are close
To black,
The color
Of death.
I pry
The knives
From under my bed
And the note
From
My pillowcase.
It’s time
To show the world
My ball
Of twine.
The knife slices
Through
The skin
Of hate,
Then turns around
And slices
Through
Me,
Staining me
In the color
Of anger.
It’s over,
The hate is gone
And so am I
And my ball of twine.
I am victorious.
I am truly happy.
I am excited.
I am free.