The abused becomes the abuser.
The mind dismisses, the heart remembers.
The mouth denies, the hand recalls.
Mouths and minds, claiming not to be the monsters that plagued their pasts.
Hands and hearts, repeating tragedies that solidified into muscle memory.
Every little thing, every word they spit out, every action they do.
Every tragedy hardens itself in its host,
Forming a house with the bricks we held on so “dearly”.
Every little tragedy became a foundation for the home of bitter souls.
A home that is neither warm nor filled with laughter.
Its inhabitants drowning in the depths of their sorrow,
In the depths of that wallowing abyss.
The creature so palpable in the past had been molded into something unrecognizable.
A scar-riddled existence, unmendable even with time.