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Poetry

Survivor Poetry: Demise of the Innocent

Demise of the Innocent

By: PinkGal

Where innocence once stood is now nothing but an empty shell previously containing a person.
The Malicious creature has a face, a body the outer appearance of deceitful humanity. A malevolent black emptiness dwelling inside the core. Skulking in the shadow amid evil. Seizing everything desired without a thought for the repercussions.
Exploiting the infantile confidence. Shameless alluring pursuing only fornication for his pleasure. Her anatomy becomes his lustful playground. A carnal act performed on vulnerable flesh. The act tearing her in two, Fragmenting her innocence scorching as it explodes within. Raping her of childhood purity. Repeatedly destroying her with his lusting desire. exploiting her body as his personal pleasurable toy.
She was nothing but an object to be used and discarded for his pleasure. A doll to be played with and discarded devoid of morality. A nameless nobody that is not significant in life
Her eyes once brimming with life, now so old and tired reflecting an emptiness and exploitation beyond comprehension. Taken from her.
He stole her innocence.
He stole her laughter.
He stole her happiness.
He tore her tender flesh from her bones.
He left mutations not visible to the sighted eye.
He spun her heart icy and black. Carving it up, creating abysmal wounds unable to be sutured.
He took an individual life filled with the potential of hope. Wringing away any good. Leaving a vacant hollow shell in it placed. He stole the very core of her existence.
He stole her.
She feels broken and damaged without the understanding as to why.
It must be because there is something wrong with me, she concludes.
She walks and talks, Numb to emotions except the constant aching existing internally.
Reasoning that there must be something wrong with her. Why else would she feel so filthy, so dirty, so unclean to the very core of her being. The dirt that no amount of purging would eliminate. The filth clung regardless of the continuous scrubbing. Constant cleansing to be freed from the uncleanness.
Then the tearing of the tender flesh ends. Concludes the relentless defilement of the external body.
Leaving nothing but a fragment and destroyed adolescent, carrying the burden of preposterous inner pain and destruction.
A physical violation executed on a defenceless individual, that no lone being should ever have to endure at the ruthless brutality of another.
Stripping the once pure vulnerable soul to gouge disfiguring Scars. Hidden from the prying eyes of others. Concealed deep down inside. The burdening of the dark secret. Ultimately to be surrounded by an endless void. Preventing the evil from strewing forward to damage the unexpected. Her fragile façade portrayed to the world, less the truth be known.
The undying want, yearning to fix the emptiness. The never ending searching which fails to bring the anticipated respite. Instead seeming to feed the ceaseless despair. Creating destruction, embracing it, Enabling the consumption from within.
There must be something wrong with me to feel like this.
This has to be my fault. I caused this Hurt, I brought it upon myself.
I allow myself to be consumed by the emptiness within. The desolating darkness that incessantly grows stronger.
Did I bring this upon myself? Did I cause this to happen?
This does not happen to good girls. This does not happen to regular girls. It must be me. People that love are not supposed to cause hurt. This does not transpire in normal families
The distortion of Reality, fabricating, deceit, fact, Twirling until the lines are concealing together. This did not really happen. Did this really happen?
It must have been conceived inside my head. It’s not real, it can’t be real, that can’t be real. It did not happen. No one with believe me. Disbelieving the notion, dismissing the thought as senseless craziness. Unable, unwilling to share. The secret burden consumes her into nothing.
I am broken, damaged beyond restoration. I am shattered beyond repair. A fragmented human leading a deviated existence beyond mending. Nothing inside but a distant memory of where humanity once resided.
The tormented misery continued after the physical act had long ago concluded. The dreadful wrenching sobs reached the core of her being. Living became excruciating. Bearing became too much. Life a forgotten fairy-tale of another lifetime. Presence on an earthly plane was no longer an option. The ideal of celestial relief, dreams of inner Peace. Her body did not belong to her, Death as a choice presented the freedom to rectify circumstances. Belonging to her. Eternal Demise as the everlasting answer to the absolute.
Slicing the blade across her wrists, disfiguring her virgin skin.
Defacing the externally to match the disfigurement internal. Allowing it to be absolute. Visible to all.
The essence of existence flowed freely to the surface, Forever staining the sheets with her blood. Emptying her life force with each heartbeat.
Mingled was the interior damnation, spewing forth the vile trapped beneath the external concealment.
The life sustain blood escaped from its torturous deception from a body incapable of healing, unable to tolerate an existence any longer.
Piece by piece giving into the eternal darkness. Believing in its bated breath of reassurances. The solace, comfort, calm so desperately pursuit, transpired into peace.
Embraced into deaths welcoming arms accepting of her existence, her presence, her being acknowledged absolutely.
The pain was quieted. Allowing the perpetual silence of eternal demise.
He accomplished destroying her for his own desires, owning her body, her material being. He won as he stole her life. The shameful secret kept as her story remaining untold. She found the peace contained within death.
Her existence on earth dismissed and forgotten. Her life cease to exist as if it was a misunderstanding to be ignored. Discarded, elapsed her life was meaningless.
Her existence thrown away. A pointless waste of space.
A none existent entity of nothing.

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  • Jess

    Pinkgal, thank you for sharing your poem with all of us. It is beautifully written and very moving. I think you have touched upon an issue that often goes unspoken; that survivors often turn on themselves physically to make sense of and stop the mental pain. You say ‘ Defacing the externally to match the disfigurement internal. Allowing it to be absolute. Visible to all.’  I think many survivors will be able to relate to your honest words. Emotional pain  is often much harder to cope with than physical external pain that we can visualise and becomes tangible in a sense. There comes a point though where we must learn that we don’t deserve to hurt ourselves. We as victims have been hurt enough by our perpetrators, we deserve a little kindness. I totally relate to your self torture and have learn’t over the years to be kind to myself again, that I have suffered enough. I hope that you can treat yourself as you would a close friend; give yourself a hug now and then. I hope that you will find, if you haven’t already, peace in life.  

  • http://soulspeakout.org SoulSpeakOutElisha

    PinkGal, thank you for sharing this thought provoking story with the community on SoulSpeakOut. Your words paint a disturbing story full of vivid imagery and realistic experiences as you write creatively about many themes that survivors of sexual violation encounter throughout the healing process. You write, “She feels broken and damaged without the understanding as to why.It must be because there is something wrong with me, she concludes.” An intense identity-shattering is a common experience for survivors, causing damage that can feel irreparable. “This does not happen to good girls. This does not happen to regular girls. It must be me. People that love are not supposed to cause hurt. This does not transpire in normal families.” It is true that our society tells us that these violations are the fault of the survivor, that they only happen to those who deserve it or who were not being careful enough. This is very untrue. A violation is never the fault of the survivor; it is always the fault of the perpetrator. Thank you for sharing your story in this space.

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