I could’ve been my anti-hero



How lucky you are

to be able to throw away all of that

Bitterness, Suffering, Woe.

Blink, Spit, Wash

it away and you’re Clean.

If I could’ve let my Fall sink low into the hands of the Devil,

Don’t you think I would’ve done the same?

I crave to gain your pain; I’m marred by mine.


I’m rooted in my own ruin

I was not 19 when I lost my innocence,

My girlhood was mine to shatter and scatter –

I threw it away.

I ripped myself apart, not some man who should’ve known better.

I was just a girl and I’m rooted in my own ruin.


The serpent who seduced sweet fruit down my throat,

who raised me off my knees and drowned me in the flood,

The problem I’ll never fix

– It’s me.

I unfurled my banners and sent out my battle boats,

I starved myself away,

I slashed my skin and watched red drip down into decay.

But it wasn’t like fighting Him:

Wound the abuser and you wound the abused.


Wound the abuser and you wound the abused

The civil war was tragic.

Anxiety threatens me awake at first light, once the midnight magic

has run away into folklore.

There’s no creation in my obliteration.

I regret me all the time.


He put you up here,

Heavy with all his vices.

But it was you who became our salvation

Your grief that cleansed us.

I’m the unrepentant thief

– I crucified myself.


The Anti-Creation, a girl left to her own devices

The Anti-Creation,

a girl left to her own devices.


Illustration by

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