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Maybe I am The Scarlet Witch

by Melynda Kloc 21 days ago in sad poetry · updated 21 days ago
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Maybe I'm Not

Maybe I am The Scarlet Witch
Photo by Camila Quintero Franco on Unsplash

Maybe I am The Scarlet Witch. Unaware that I’ve created a false reality, but not false enough to mean that it doesn’t exist - that the people inside aren’t real.

Does that make me schizophrenic?

I used to think that I was screaming death in his face and scaring him away. Like I was some fierce being that couldn't be defeated. Like I had actual powers or something. I used to think that if she died, I would release a silent rage, a silent pain, that destroyed everything.

A silent pain heard and felt and seen and touched and breathed.

That fills your body with empty, heavy, hollow pain.

A silent scream escapes your lips as you fall to your knees and claw at the hole in your splayed ribs.

Like skeleton fingers, reaching back toward your clawing fingers, beckoning you to see how empty, how barren, how absent your heart.

I thought I’d fall to my knees and scream a scream that no one had ever heard before.

A scream that would reach the deepest depths and echo and shatter every ear.

I swore I’d make them pay.

Every last one of the demons and spirits and fiends - so determined to take you away.

I swore I’d haunt the hauntless.

Shadow ghosts, stalk wraiths, hunt phantoms, all with the same, shattering scream on my lips, as if a breath.

The constant scream, a pointed, paling, prolific pain - that makes a banshee cry now a lullaby.

Hopper said he is a black hole.

Hopper held her in his arms when she died.

Just like me.

I felt you go.

I watched and you grew cold.

I prayed you’d stay.

I begged and pleaded and swore I would die for you.

No one listened to.

Just a mom on her knees, begging, someone please save my baby.

Just take me, take me.

I would rather die than live this life with these empty arms.

Silent rooms.

Empty halls.

Hollow hands.

A nursery you never saw.

I feel the weight of your body in a restless longing in my limbs.

I remember how you felt in my arms.

I lay awake and feel your weight on my chest.

And I beg someone to give you back to me.

Anyone.

Please.

Just take me.

Take me.

I am The Scarlet Witch.

Stripped of all sorcery.

Drained and waiting.

I will run to you.

A sunny morning in the fall, I will hear you call.

And I will answer.

sad poetry

About the author

Melynda Kloc

always searching

always creating

always imagining

Reader insights

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Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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  1. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

  2. Heartfelt and relatable

    The story invoked strong personal emotions

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Comments (2)

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  • Dylan Terpstra16 days ago

    I like this. It's a different perception on reality that I often question as well.

  • Cindy Read19 days ago

    I felt your pain, anger, and ever lasting sadness.

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