Itís like a spiral of emotions, the pain going higher and higher again and again. Until you feel you canít take anymore; you canít breathe. Your eyes are cloudy from all the tears that were left in their wake; your mind canít stay off of them, lingering; holding on. And just when you gasp for your last breath, falling into this endless abyss of sorrow, hate; you extend your hands out, hoping, wishing, dreaming that someone, anyone, would take hold of you, to free you from this hell.
And trust me, the hands do come; but with its price. The hands that save you are greeted with resent and distrust. How can you trust this person, who swears heíll make your world shine again, when the last person that gave you these promises tossed you into this lake of endless pain? In the fiery pits of hell, you fell and here comes, someone who claims to be an angel, to save you?
The last person you thought was an angel was in reality a devil in disguise. You fell in love with their smile; in reality they were bearing their fangs at you. You thought the hugs were to hold you tight; in reality they were just digging their nails deep inside to rip you apart.
But you know this all too well, donít you? How the lies and tricks worked; how easily they were able to manipulate you and use you for their own sick amusement. And you tell yourself, time and time again ďI wonít let it happen againĒ. And no matter how many times you tell yourself to move on, you find yourself stuck, tied down by an invincible chain that brings the unbearable pain. The pain, you feel is ever lasting, that youíll always be affected by this hideous person and their tricks. That they ruined your life, and any hopes of happiness; but youíre young.
Although not all the wounds heal, and although not all the scars show, deep inside you realize that happiness can be achieved again. But now youíre hesitant to what to do next. You look up at this angel, their face shining ever so brightly; but youíre afraid. Afraid of the light, afraid of flying with him to this so called heaven, because the last person let you go. You donít want to feel it again, and in turn, you move away, take steps back; engulf yourself in thoughts that bear you no benefit. But the angel smiles, tells you everything will be okay. Part of you wants to believe it; believe those words that come from its lips. But another part refuses, saying that itís a lie, itís all a lie. How can one person make everything fine; how can one person replace another?
You find yourself holding on to the good times from the past; how the demon made you feel fine in its grasp, how you felt so secure; soÖalive. But it wasnít always, part of you knows that, but you forcefully block out the negatives so you can find yourself peace; momentarily until the loneliness sets in.
Then, without much thought, you find yourself thrown into the arms of the so called angel; its gentle smile repeating the same words over and over again. You try to push it away, yet it stays; refuses to fade away.
You ask yourself, time and time again, how can it be; that such a heavenly thing came here to rescue you? But your mind digresses; tells you that itís all a lie, another scheme to destroy you from the inside. So in turn, you make these paper walls around you and hold on tight.
You push the angel away, with one big heavy shove, and shout at the top of your lungs that you only need yourself. And itís true; the only person that can fix the scars of the past is you. You have to let go, have to forget.
The angel smiles sweetly at you and sits down. It doesnít leave, but watches you, carefully watching your every step; waiting for the right time to pick you up when you fall down again.
Suddenly, your arms become heavy and you look at your sides to see a shield and sword. The angel softly whispers in your ear: ďThe shield is to block out all the negativity of the world; and the sword is to cut down those who wish to bring you harm. Use them wellĒ
You turn to face the angel; shocked by the turn of events; lost in your mind are the fears. But the doubts remain. You grip tightly the sword in your hand; unsure whether to keep marching or strike down this so called angel.