Analysis of Clean.

The metallic flare glinted into my pupils
I've run my finger across it many times before
But have never accepted that every time I broke skin, it was a grim reminder of you.
The words “two years” shouting back at my face
Carried the weight of a brick thrown through the window
To call it a success story would be a sin.
It was survival through gritted teeth and warm tears.
The pants that have been slid down after every “prove it” were buried at the bottom of my trash can
As your threatening messages pinged my phone
Recovery was not self-care,
Recovery was fear.
Recovery was protection.