Spiral to Hatred: Tale of Multiple Personality Disorder

Clenched in her hand, the smooth texture of the trash bag,
the contents within initating recollection and the flashbacks.
A black dress, frilly & covered in unnecessary white lace,
from times where she had blacked out, reflections erased.
Tracing her black locks, remembrance of her foreign grace.
Those nights of amnesia, the mysterious ways all erased.
Her stoic face, stares down at a blackhole, a weird abyss,
missing moments, memorable memories of a sweet kiss.

Returning to reality, she stared down at the bag's objects;
she grabbed a dress, drenched it with gas until it was toxic.
An ocean of gas, lost in the motion of the thoughts she had;
labels wet, dresses soaked, she smiled & flicked the match.
It spun through the air and landed precisely on the lace dress,
fire licking her face, eyes lively as if she was demon-possessed.

Her embrace replaced with reality of a real word SHE ruled,
where each moment was precious time as valuable as gold.
Really, all things told, she wasn't really in complete control.
Her arms fold, all the contents of the bag gone, anger fueled.
The times she'd been paid to have sex with horny strangers.
She felt dirty, and every thought something that pained her.
No longer would she be the pawn of the spawn of sexual lust.
She had once been strong steel, slowly deteriorated by rust.

Inside, the answering machine blinked red, a new message..
she felt empty, like her other side was building deep trenches.
"I'm not the other personality, you are, I've got the damn power.
You're nothing, and I won't be ignored by you, a little coward."
Pressed by will, she deleted the message, the ill's wish fulfilled.
"Bitch, I'm real." Finally able to access emotions, to really feel.
She'd no longer be the prostitution prospect-dominated subject.
No longer to respect her payers and to have to stroke the erect.

It took time, 'cuz she slowly approached the sad spiral of hatred.
it'd be a long time until she was out, it'd take a while to let fate in