The memories eat away at me.

Embedded in my mind but also my soul.

Moments that marked me so deeply I sometimes check my body for actual bruises.

These memories have been with me almost my whole life.

Usually, I’m good.

I’ve done the work.

I’ve accepted and healed.

Mostly.

The wounds are still there. They live inside me, scabbed and scarred.

Seemingly healed.

Until I move wrong and they open again.

Then I bleed.

Fresh, new, deep red blood.

I am a child again, my innocence disrupted. 

My heart beating behind my eyes, the panic, the pain, the shame, and the terror.

I dress the wounds fast and expertly. 

But they are still there, the memories eating away at me. 

Acid on my soul.