The Thought, The Choice

This is routine for her now, nothing new Every other day it’s like a re-run She had every action, every movement, every word recorded in her mind She tries to forget But every time she tries The images just get clearer in her head She tries to ignore But with every attempt The words just get louder She tries to escape But no mater how hard she tried She just kept running back into it Giving up was the only option So she would have to live with it She would have to live with hearing the car door slam at 3:00 o’clock in the morning She would have to live with waking up at 3:01 and feeling in her stomach the sensation of torture and depression She would have to live with the living room lights turning on at 3:04 burning her sensitive eyes She would have to live with the obvious whispers going on below her bedroom She would have to live with the slow increase in volume of the voices downstairs turning, changing, altering into piercing shouts She would have to live with all the cuss words, the hurtful words, the damaging words, the wounding words that would play and replay in her mind one million times not knowing that every word was stabbing her being She would have to live with hearing a flower vase, or mirror, or wine bottle break and shatter down to pieces, every piece of glass another hole in her heart She would have to live with the sudden halt of the argument, because of the break, those seven seconds the most quiet yet still the most painful of all She would have to live with hearing the loud, excruciating stomps of feet on their way back to the front door She would have to live with the echo of the accelerator of the car outside her window, slowly fading as the vehicle drove farther and farther away from her “sanctuary” She would have to live with the sound of the weeps, and sobs, and cries of the fragile, broken figure under her room. For every tear downstairs that hit the wooden floor, there was a drop of red, hot, sticky fluid that stuck to the bathroom sink She would have to live with the moments every night that the figure that used to be below her would enter her room with eyes red and teary making sure that her baby girl was comfortable and secure in the calm of her room She would have to live with the whole in her heart, in her soul that could not be filled back in She would have to live with it Live with it all She would have to live with it for the first 18 years of her life She would have to deal with it, suck it in Unless…. Unless she made a choice Would she choose to rid her body of the liquid that keeps her alive? Was that what this would lead to? But was it worth it? Is it better to live with the heavy burden of life and wait for it to change? For it to get better Or to not live at all~*