Fractured Heart

Was there a missing persons poster? Did they hold a funeral for me? Do I have a tombstone with my ‘death’ date? For years those thoughts ran through my mind, wondering and hoping that they would somehow know I didn’t die that night. I used to dream that they would find me and break down the door to my prison and set me free but that was a pipe dream.

Even if they did find me, they wouldn’t be rescuing the person they thought I was, she died fourteen years ago when that car went over the bridge. I’ve listened, learned,...

Was there a missing persons poster? Did they hold a funeral for me? Do I have a tombstone with my ‘death’ date? For years those thoughts ran through my mind, wondering and hoping that they would somehow know I didn’t die that night. I used to dream that they would find me and break down the door to my prison and set me free but that was a pipe dream.

Even if they did find me, they wouldn’t be rescuing the person they thought I was, she died fourteen years ago when that car went over the bridge. I’ve listened, learned, and endured for years. They may break my body and use me as their doll to get themselves off but they can’t break my mind. That is the one thing I won’t allow them to touch, they think I’m a stupid doll and know nothing but they’re wrong. They’re too busy making sure no one comes to break me out but what they never expected was for me to rescue myself and claim my freedom. I’m no longer Waverly Bronson, I am Doxy Da Luca.