PART ONE - PILLOW TALK

Have you ever been in an accident or so near death that at that very moment, you thought your life was over?  I have. 
  
I died by suffocation, at least that's what I thought every time my father put a pillow over my face and held it until my struggling stopped. While i struggled for breath and in the very moment before I lost consciousness, I knew that this was my time to die. 
  
You know something? It's true that your life passes before your eyes before the blackness takes over and fills your mind. It's a terrifying way to die. 
  
  
PILLOWS. Everyone uses them.  Soft and comfy, most people have their own special pillow they like to sleep on. 
I know all about pillows. I hid my face in my pillow at night when I was a child so no one would hear me crying. 
  
I prayed nightly to God with my face in my pillow, crying out to him the anguish we were enduring. If only pillows talked, what stories they could tell. 
  
My pillow was used to hurt me when I was young, but I've never held it personally responsible for the pain, phobias and nightmares it gave to me. 
  
For a lot of years I had to quit using a pillow because of the fear of my father killing me with it. At around the age of 20 I forced myself to sleep with a pillow again, in essence, thumbing my nose at my father and saying " you can't have that either Daddy". 
  
I have tried to take back everything he has stolen from me. 
  
But I still have the pillow phobia. My pillow cannot touch my face or instantly I feel as if someone has sucked all the air out of my lungs. It brings back too many memories I wish belonged to anyone but me. 
  
I hold my father responsible for using my pillow to smother me while I was in a dead sleep. My drunkin father used his body weight to keep the pillow on my face while I clawed, kicked and lurched my body wildly in an attempt to get him offa me so I could breath. 
  
hahahaha. a couple of times  my father cried after smothering me, begging my forgiveness for he knew not what he'd done. 
  
I make it a point never to accept the apology of any drunk, lying, hypocrite who has just attempted to kill me in my sleep. 
  
But most the time, my father laughed drunkenly while he smothered me, later claiming he had only been teasing me. 
  
"Cream Puff" he would say, slurring his words. "I was only playing with you, I would never hurt you. It was just a joke". 
  
Right on! I've always been one for a good joke, daddy. 
  
I knew my father wasn't trying to kill me. He just wanted me to be quiet while he raped me, and he didn't feel like putting up much of a fight. I guess it was just a lot easier to rape me while unconscious. 
  
Don't worry about what it might do to my mental health, daddy! 
What's a little phobia compared to a nice peaceful evening at home with the kids, huh dad? ASSHOLE> 
  
Being smothered is to me, the most horrifying way to die. 
  
Should I tell you? Would you like to know what it smells like to die? It smells like ME. 
  
Smelling was always the last sense to go before I died. Here, let me start at the beginning. 
  
SURPRISE! 
  
I was always very surprised to wake up and not be able to see, breath or move. Then came the panic, my mind screaming " whats happening, OH MY GOD, I CAN'T BREATH. 
  
And then the fireworks would come, but this was no fourth of July to me. The only thing you can see is vibrant sparkles of shooting light in different colors dancing and swirling before your eyes. It is actually quite beautiful. 
  
A second later, you smell and feel your hot, wet breath on your face. The air can't escape, so your face gets hotter and hotter. Your eyes get so wet they start to stick shut. But what does that matter? All you can see is dots and swirls. 
  
Your face is sticking to the pillow with the moisture form your breath. But it isn't good air. It's the carbon dioxide you've been exhaling that has no where to go. 
  
The pillow cloth seals off all fresh air from reaching your nose. You can smell your own fear and it's sickening. 
  
Thoughts run through your mind. So many thoughts, 'I can't breath, it's hot, dear god I CAN"T BREATH! Help me. 
  
The hotness is overwhelming and your face is soaking wet. Your heart feels like it will explode right out of your chest. It's beating so loud, your can hear it matching it's beat with the beating of your arms, as you flail and pound an enemy you can't see, but one you know is determined in his lustful desire to stop all of your thoughts and movements.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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