bleeding

Bleeding. He bled me dry. He took me and attempted to mold me to his cast. I was his clay for shaping. I was his artwork. I was pliable and ready for any suggestion. I was a blank slate. A clean white canvas. Draw me. Paint me. Make me become.

Why was I so compliant? My life had no meaning. I was no one. He could provide some substance for me. He could do this for me. I was sure of it. He could give me the thoughts I needed and the viewpoints I sorely missed on my own. He knew exactly what I needed and what I should be doing all the time. I let him guide me. He inserted everything into me he could. Thoughts. Ideas. Viewpoints. Demands. Penis.

This is what I ended up looking like. This is the unveiling. This is the reveal. Bleeding.

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