Post-Traumatic

by Chantal V. Johnson

screaming with rage at the pain of having been born.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m too addicted to control to be addicted to anything else,”

There was no longer any pleasure in eating; it was merely something she did to survive.

The only things more oppressive than the eyes of an insecure woman were the eyes of an undesired man.

She felt like a cowering child at the center of a cosmic joke, bracing for violence that never came.

It’s his passion for me, she told herself. It’s too strong.

I aspire to reach this level of delulu