undigested chunks
of memory spew from
depths of unconscious

regurgitated masses
of bloodied solids
mingled with mush

too repulsed to touch
unable to fathom
what force-fed garbage

initiated mind vomit;
churning emotions
physical revulsion

dreams of childhood
mutilated, ravaged
innocence, fragmented

images soaked in blood,
cry for acknowledgment
cannot stop convulsions

maggots exploding
in my brain, sucking
my soul, threatening

darkness, I am falling
backwards, consumed,
frail state of control

lapsing in this cesspool
of filth, remembering
unimaginable abuses.

(Image: http://derekjones.deviantart.com/art/troubled-soul-437229975)


Published by


Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

One thought on “Purge-a-story”

  1. I can relate to your feelings in this post. Remembering past abuse feels exactly as you describe. Do you feel any better since you’ve written it out? I hope this was therapeutic and cathartic 💛


Comments are closed.