An ode to Emily / Innocence lost

 My soul hemorrhaged. The final shatter into oblivion. Dichotomous melodies of split contusions; roam across a shattering of molecular infusions. 

The delicate shards of diabolic triads, lacerating core, annihilate. 

an impartial wasteland of causal regret, 

the interwoven, multilayered fabric of reality has been driven into my being across the totality of my earthly incarnation. 

Molested. I fucking despise that word with every cell in my body, 

but the sexual abuse I endured shattered this toddlers soul. 

Result? Fragmented soul.

Traumatic interludes,raw passion, pure pain. Ache, magnet to rape and danger. 

Chaos. Chaos. Hell. Pain. Ache, inescapable rot of soul. 

My solution? 

Alchemical vandalism, 

to plunge into the abyss without hesitation, to traverse the perimeter since birth, and to finally drown in the plunge, which induces an elaborate clusterfuck within.

Never stopping. 

I have been overboard, and now, here upon the surface, megapixled ephiphays can be evoked amongst serene metaphors, disguised as life lessons. 

My mind never stops. 

It never stops thinking. 

My heart trembles, subjugated by the lair of restless internal roaming. 

The eternal ache. 

No medication. 

Hello reality. I am home. 

No anti depressant. Not since early last week. 

This is me unmedicated. 

I am not depressed, merely unstable. Impulsive. 

Or is this who I am without the chemical lobotomy. 

My brain is on fire. 

I don’t see a doctor until tomorrow morning, and I am determined to get through it with willpower alone. 

Death is not an option. 

Not anymore. Reassemble the fragments. Into a whole. 

Save me. 
Inner me. 

The pain is interwoven in the crevices of my genetic blueprint. I am diluted with a volatile sensitivity. 

I am embodied with the burden of a bleeding heart. Complexity envelopes my soul, who I am is this multifaceted, ultra dynamic chameleon, who am I ? 

A masquerade laments. 

Childhood induced.

The memories must cease, or be endured, red brick bile scathing shame. 

Mechanisms embedded in dollhouses of succulent lust, maggots of corrupted purity splitting through sacred flesh. 

A childs purity. 

Annihilated. 

I will save myself. 

To death with spindles of crinkle cut fingers sliding up virgin thighs. 

Crawling, 

I feel him crawling like a plague of venomous locusts, swarming inside me.

 A lifetime of ruin. One mans hands.