Rust and Time

If a dish is drenched in food, scrub it out.
It's not that hard.
Our dishwasher can't handle the slightest bit of food, but...

My father doesn't seem to understand.

My life has slipped into disrepair.
Deterioration without remorse.
Sorrow. Emptiness. And yet, nothing - comes to terms.

I'm not mentally I'll, but I forgot who I was. Perhaps I've dissociated to an extent. A separate, no, different person has taken over since those months of agony. Slowly, gradually, I've built a new life, a new stage, a new mind. My heart has remained, but my body had changed. My thoughts and my world have fallen over the edge, pushed by one soulless pair of eyes, never to be spoken of, yet screaming under the skin.

I am broken.
I am changed
I am reforged, new, and scathed.

My cracks will never be filled, but
I hope to God for ridges to compensate.
I don't care for smooth skin anymore.

Over time, things start to rust if they aren't oiled properly. I've lost a good sabre blade to carelessness in forgetting to oil.

I've learned my lesson.