Poem: 'Mourning'

 by Sophie Escott

I am in mourning. 

I mourn the man you used to be,

who made me feel special and safe,

the one who i believed would take a bullet for me,

but turned out to be the one holding the gun. 

I am in mourning.  

I mourn the memories we once made,

now tinted by a black lens,

because every reminder of you

is a reminder of what you did,

and each reminder eats away at my soul,

like a leach

sucking the life out of me. 

I am in mourning. 

I mourn my once-loved innocence,

stripped from me like the clothes that i wore,

both proving no barrier to you. 

I miss the girl I once was,

adored by many, a happy soul,

who is now a stranger to me. 

you killed her

like she was an ant on the road.  

I am in mourning. 

I mourn the layers of bubble wrap,

that protected me from the reality of the world,

which you popped one by one,

thinking nothing of it. 

you teared away my layers,

like you would a present on christmas day,

only eager to see the valuable gift inside of it,

instead of making the most of its beautiful wrapping. 

I am in mourning. 

I mourn your presence,

and constant willingness to be by my side. 

at the time I thought it was your kind nature,

and sweet heart,

but now i know you saw me as just a conch shell,

a beautiful exterior with nothing inside of it. 

you saw me as the end of the rainbow,

the route to getting the pot of gold you’d been longing for. 

I am in mourning. 

I mourn my dependency,

because in spite of you driving a train through my life,

a part of me longs to still be a passenger. 

a part of me misses what we once were,

when we were nothing real,

because you loved my residence   

and not my ghost. 

I am in mourning.

I mourn my once owned body,

now under your control, 

like i’m a puppet,

and you’re its master. 

I miss my previous ability,

to look at myself,

and see a modest girl of innocence

look back at me. 

Instead now all I see,

is a promiscuous demon

whom I no longer recognise. 

I am in mourning. 

I can’t look at myself without thinking of you,

because of the red stamp you put

across my face,

with bold arrows pointing towards it,

to expose me to the vultures 

of modern day, teenage society,

like a gazelle up against a lion. 

I am in mourning.