Demon Spun

She begun on a search for a cure, deemed as non-existent, resulting only in the brutal rape of her innocence. As natural as the circle of life, the reality of things seemed to sink in slowly. She found herself revisiting the sight where her blood, she watched, leaked rapidly out of self-inflicted wounds. Causing substantial amounts of damage; probing her core leading to her soul and giving birth to a demon. One who craved pain like ants did sugar; dragging her down deep. Each day she’d celebrate the way pain became her oxygen; her only connection to reality. Understand, she isn’t lost in darkest; loved ones see her as the sun through their rain. Instead, she was simply broken, troubled at heart and in mind. The type of broken that wore masks and answered to names that demean her but the sadomasochistic within her, merely felt humbled. The true reality, she was her own cure. She just preferred to bleed because blood, she believed, was her only way to remember how he broke her. It was what drove her to mastering how never to allow another man to break her again.



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