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Safety Notice

If you are a survivor, please be careful in reading the information compiled here. It is impossible to give information on ritual abuse, and about people's opinions about ritual abuse, in a way that is not upsetting and/or triggering. Only you know how much is wise to read, and how much information you can absorb at one time.

JL

Death

The blood drips off his face --
Half of it blown away,
The other half numb from pain.
He stumbles down the streets,
Ignored by all,
Was he even there at all?

One of his arms -- gone,
Just a little stump is left.
He takes his other,
Puts it to his mangled face,
Smears the blood across,
Then licks it off his hand.

All his hope is gone,
No longer does he wish to live,
To die, his only dream.
He hears a voice behind him,
Someone recognizes his being,
Who could it be?

A woman,
Coming nearer and nearer,
Calling his name,
Again and again.
His pain was all ov'r,
No more nightmares --
They were in the past.
She reaches out,
He takes her hand --
And together they walk,
Out of sight,
Out of mind.
No one would miss him now.

She gave him peace,
He could begin his life anew.
This strange woman,
But was she:
A woman,
A man,
A spirit...
A spirit who takes away life,
To let them start again.
Who leads away the sick and ugly --
Without fear.
She is the end to all,
And the beginning to all;
For without her no new life could be made.
She is DEATH,
And DEATH is the beginning and the end.

 

Untitled

The heart still pumps out blood of the newly dead body,
A girl lies there, the knife still grasped in her hand.
The deep red blood pours out of the wound -- like a river, it's water
flowing out of a lake.
A dripping sound is heard,
Drip,
Drip,
Drip.
It is the blood of the knife falling onto the floor.
A small smile is upon her face,
She knew that it was over;
All those years of torment and torture,
Yet she had won.
He would never hurt her again.

Footsteps are heard outside the door,
Getting louder and louder;
A knock,
Then a voice, "Daddy's home."
The knob slowly turns and a man appears,
Holding a beer in one hand, and a condom in the other he comes in.
He sees her lying on the floor,
Dropping the items onto the ground, the beer bottle shatters,
He runs over to her.
"Oh, my little girl," he cries, "Why did you do this?"
Then he finds the note, pierced through the knife in her scribbled handwriting --
"YOU CAN NEVER HURT ME AGAIN," is all it says.
He starts to sob, weeping uncontrollably, crying for the loss of his only child.
Sorry for the pain he had caused her,
How did this get so out of control?
When did he start abusing the woman he loved most?
Not even a woman, a little girl, still in school.
He never meant to hurt her,
But it happened.
Yes, she had won,
He knew now that he was in the wrong.
How could he have not seen her tears,
Heard her cries-begging for mercy?

Yes, she had won,
But she had to give up her life to do it.
So young, still in school- only eight years old.

Untitled

She waits in a white, padded room for them to come.
For them to put her out of her misery,
For death to come,
For freedom to come.

Why is she here,
What did she do?
She never hurt anyone, never tried to.
But then one day they came:
They --
With their van and their straight jackets,
Trying to comfort her,
Trying to control her.
She hated them.

Balled up in a corner,
Rocking back and forth --
Back and forth.
What will happen to her, she wondered.
When and where will it happen?
What did she do to deserve this?

I'M NOT CRAZY!!!
She longed to scream it at them,
To explain to them that she didn't belong here,
And that she would be alright.
But she couldn't,
And even if she did --
They wouldn't listen.
They never listened.
She hated them.

No! She screamed,
The voices,
They were back.
Telling her what to do and how to live her life.
Why don't you just leave me alone,
Let me live my life in peace.
Maybe then I could leave this place! she screamed.
They never went away --
That is why she was here.
Those damned voices.

Why did they choose her, she wondered,
Why couldn't the choose someone else to torment?

She never use to think that she was crazy,
Not before --
When she was working at her job,
And living a normal life.
Sure she had voices,
But what was the problem?
She didn't hurt anyone,
And no one hurt her.

What about those rapists,
And mass murderers,
Why weren't they in here?
How come they were more sane than she was?
Sure they didn't have the voices in their heads,
But she didn't destroy the lives of thousands.

Who's really crazy here,
The free,
Or the insane?
Some of the insane are crazy,
But some aren't.
Some of the free are sane,
But some aren't.

Why should the rapists,
And terrorists run free,
When perfectly harmless people are locked up behind padded walls everyday.
Everyone is crazy in their own little way,
But only the dangerous people should be put away --
For without craziness then what is life,
For life is crazy and therefore the people in it are crazy.

 

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