Bleeding pages

It’s 5 in the morning and I’m out on the moor in the fog because I can’t sleep.
It feels like my spirit wants to leave the body.
Don’t want to know of anything.
I’ve been walking out on the moor for too many centuries now.
Years of tears.
After the storms gather yourself
and pick up the pieces again and again.

Laying still in shock. Paralyzed because of soulshattering terror.
Upload and unleash all those plaguey voices from the past
and let them echo in my head and make the best of the situation.
Burn alive inside. Burn dead inside on a daily basis.
That’s strenuous for a long time sufferer.
Tormentor why don’t you just get it over with
and let the blood well up from the well again.
That old well overflowing with blood because of trauma carried over from centuries of rape and torture.

Cellmemories of trauma echoing. Constant reverberations.
Gaps of prescence.
It is unbearable to be present in my body with this horrendous trauma echoing in my cells.
Let me sit and endure this horrid torture of my soul for prolonged hours without breaks.
Nothing could ever compensate for this horrendous cruelty beyond words.
Watch me get another violent outburst.
Watch me lay like a sobbing mess and cry rivers uninterruptedly for hours.

Thorns and sharp edges surround me.
Such razorsharp needles you pierce through me in the torture chamber and chuckle a bit because malice is in your blood.

Barge up my stairs and violence guest me.
There’s not much left of me now in my fragmented shell.
I’m not even fully present in my body.
Floating above the ground like a ghost.

Toss and turn in agony during sleepless nights.
Crash down the hill in the wasteland and sink down down down into the deepest depths of the night.
Dropped of all blood. Echoes from the past.
My gift to you is to find a four leaf clover and to see a rainbow in hope of a silver lining.
In hope of getting out of this waterland maze once and for all.

Don’t want to know of anything.
Numb out and distract from these bleeding pages.

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