The Hand Holding me Back

Tears well in my eyes, but they are mopped from my cheeks before they fall.

A scream fills my lungs, but a hand covers my mouth and forces me to smile.

I tear at the hand, pulling and scratching as I try to wrench it away.

Let me be, let me be, let me be! I want to yell, but the hand grips my throat.

I try to run, fleeing from this horrible person, but a hand grabs my wrist keeping me in place.

I look down, my eyes fixing on the fingers clasped tightly around my wrist.

With horror I recognise the delicate wrist, the arching fingers, and the pale skin.

The hand that is holding me back is my own and I cannot stop it no matter how deep I scratch it.