Soul Violation

Poem on PTSD Relapse & Dissociation

External forces converge,

dragging backward-

tearing open the vault

of the most excruciating hour.

Malicious, monstrous,

they descend:

devilish architects of agony,

carving wounds

deep into the marrow of the soul.

Again and again,

undoing is orchestrated,

deliberate as surgeons

of suffering.

Each trauma, a tidal wave

crashing over fragile ground,

until all that remains

is a silent witness

hovering above,

watching the spectacle

of bludgeoning.

Pain becomes a landscape-

jagged, unending-

traversed with every

out of body gasp.

Below,

a broken vessel lies

encircled by laughter,

the jeering chorus

of tormentors

refusing mercy,

cemented as ghouls

in the mausoleum

of memory.

Exploited, discarded,

left for dead-

again and again,

the cycle repeats

until mind freezes,

paralyzed by horror,

trapped in a loop

of endless violation.

Yet somewhere

in the fractured mosaic

of recollection,

a memory persists-

not of escape,

but of a pulse:

a secret ember

glowing in the ash,

a whisper of dawn

curling beneath the rubble.

From the ruins,

a strange, wild root

twists toward the surface,

craving the taste

of rain and sunlight-

not yet a bloom,

but a promise

coiling in the dark,

preparing,

in its own time,

to split stone

and reach for sky.

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The Only Way Out Is Through

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