A negative—of an instant in time—a glimpse—a whisper amongst screams—provokes angst and terror that calculatedly and savagely collides with my body. A trespasser that thrusts itself—raging against me until it intrudes my body—an invasion amongst howling thunder that detonates from my belly and ruptures out of my mouth—a fracture—a breach—a severance happens between the humanness I wear like clothing, and my soul that is concealed within it.
People in black robes ensnare me, and I hang—suspended on hooks of terror—raw and poignantly bitter. Legs dangling like a pendulum, that sway like the second hand on the the clock on the wall that watches with shameless vigilance as I step out of the fracture that is tattooed on the suit of humanness that I wear like clothing, and wander up the wall next to the clock—and move in—a tenant—an inmate of circumstance—a contingency bequeathed upon me by the dynasty holding the bridle—the reins—the harness—that controls the cold steel bit that dwells in my mouth and lodges amongst my teeth.
The men cloaked in black robes strip the clothing off my humanness—and paint something on me. I can’t see what. I am too far away. They walk around my humanness hanging there like an unanimated skeleton—uninhabited by life. They are saying something. I don’t know what. I am too far away.
One walks up to my humanness that is hanging there like clothing—someone would wear—and pierces it with something from their body. I can’t see what.
I feel a fire bolt—a missile—a bomb explode with daggers of hot confetti within myself, and start to fall from my cell by the clock—I grasp desperately for the hands of time—only—they keep moving—a rolling boil—reduced to a simmer.
I fall back into that fracture on the human suit I am forced to rent—a tenant in a cell, and I am faced with abandonment—bestowed to the wolves, and their cult of depravity. I am a ritual. A sacrifice. A commodity. A piece of property belonging to everyone—but myself.
Words evade me, dear friend. Nothing seems appropriate…nothing. But the very heart and gut of me wants to demand a long-over-due justice, an unspeakable retribution for each and every one of those gutless creatures in black robes.
I do hope you receive some bits of catharsis by telling your horrific history here. We’re here for you, we hear and see you—both as a scared child and as a grown survivor. Much love to you. ♥️
You are a foreign correspondent reporting straight from Hell. I'm sorry for all the pain you've been forced to endure. I hope that you find some peace in this life.
On a technical note - Your writing and way with words always inspires me.