#innerpain — Public Fediverse posts

Silence is not always ego... 😔 Sometimes it hides a lot of pain. 💗

#Silence #EmotionalPain #HiddenFeelings #InnerPain #QuietSouls #MentalHealth #DeepThoughts #Quotes #ShareInspireQuotes

Silence is not always ego... 😔 Sometimes it hides a lot of pain. 💗

#Silence #EmotionalPain #HiddenFeelings #InnerPain #QuietSouls #MentalHealth #DeepThoughts #Quotes #ShareInspireQuotes

Silence is not always ego... 😔 Sometimes it hides a lot of pain. 💗

#Silence #EmotionalPain #HiddenFeelings #InnerPain #QuietSouls #MentalHealth #DeepThoughts #Quotes #ShareInspireQuotes

Silence is not always ego... 😔 Sometimes it hides a lot of pain. 💗

#Silence #EmotionalPain #HiddenFeelings #InnerPain #QuietSouls #MentalHealth #DeepThoughts #Quotes #ShareInspireQuotes

Silence is not always ego... 😔 Sometimes it hides a lot of pain. 💗

#Silence #EmotionalPain #HiddenFeelings #InnerPain #QuietSouls #MentalHealth #DeepThoughts #Quotes #ShareInspireQuotes

I think, at this point, I am giving up on God's mercy. I feel empty, numb, and all unexplainable inside.

#MentalHealth #SpiritualStruggle #FeelingNumb #EmptyInside #EmotionalExhaustion #GriefAndLoss #MentalHealthAwareness #InnerPain #SearchingForPeace #SpiritualJourney #FaithStruggles #Sadness #HonestFeelings #Overwhelmed #LifeChallenges #WithYou #Vulnerability

I think, at this point, I am giving up on God's mercy. I feel empty, numb, and all unexplainable inside.

#MentalHealth #SpiritualStruggle #FeelingNumb #EmptyInside #EmotionalExhaustion #GriefAndLoss #MentalHealthAwareness #InnerPain #SearchingForPeace #SpiritualJourney #FaithStruggles #Sadness #HonestFeelings #Overwhelmed #LifeChallenges #WithYou #Vulnerability

I think, at this point, I am giving up on God's mercy. I feel empty, numb, and all unexplainable inside.

#MentalHealth #SpiritualStruggle #FeelingNumb #EmptyInside #EmotionalExhaustion #GriefAndLoss #MentalHealthAwareness #InnerPain #SearchingForPeace #SpiritualJourney #FaithStruggles #Sadness #HonestFeelings #Overwhelmed #LifeChallenges #WithYou #Vulnerability

I think, at this point, I am giving up on God's mercy. I feel empty, numb, and all unexplainable inside.

#MentalHealth #SpiritualStruggle #FeelingNumb #EmptyInside #EmotionalExhaustion #GriefAndLoss #MentalHealthAwareness #InnerPain #SearchingForPeace #SpiritualJourney #FaithStruggles #Sadness #HonestFeelings #Overwhelmed #LifeChallenges #WithYou #Vulnerability

I think, at this point, I am giving up on God's mercy. I feel empty, numb, and all unexplainable inside.

#MentalHealth #SpiritualStruggle #FeelingNumb #EmptyInside #EmotionalExhaustion #GriefAndLoss #MentalHealthAwareness #InnerPain #SearchingForPeace #SpiritualJourney #FaithStruggles #Sadness #HonestFeelings #Overwhelmed #LifeChallenges #WithYou #Vulnerability

Silence is not always ego...😔 Sometimes it hides a lot of pain.💗

#SilenceAndPain #HiddenEmotions #NotEgo #EmotionalHealth #UnspokenFeelings #InnerPain #QuietSoul #FeelDeeply #Quotes #ShareInspireQuotes

Silence is not always ego...😔 Sometimes it hides a lot of pain.💗

#SilenceAndPain #HiddenEmotions #NotEgo #EmotionalHealth #UnspokenFeelings #InnerPain #QuietSoul #FeelDeeply #Quotes #ShareInspireQuotes

Silence is not always ego...😔 Sometimes it hides a lot of pain.💗

#SilenceAndPain #HiddenEmotions #NotEgo #EmotionalHealth #UnspokenFeelings #InnerPain #QuietSoul #FeelDeeply #Quotes #ShareInspireQuotes

Silence is not always ego...😔 Sometimes it hides a lot of pain.💗

#SilenceAndPain #HiddenEmotions #NotEgo #EmotionalHealth #UnspokenFeelings #InnerPain #QuietSoul #FeelDeeply #Quotes #ShareInspireQuotes

Silence is not always ego...😔 Sometimes it hides a lot of pain.💗

#SilenceAndPain #HiddenEmotions #NotEgo #EmotionalHealth #UnspokenFeelings #InnerPain #QuietSoul #FeelDeeply #Quotes #ShareInspireQuotes

INRE

I saw them coming with their fists of steel and their tongues of knives to cut and cut me until I bled in tears, mocking me with their laughter. Muddy boots to splash within these precious pools of my agony. Fists to smash my face, ground my glasses until the shards cut and gouged my eyes. Blinded, I struck out, flailed wildly, at the laughter and myself until the welts and bruises showed deep purple from the beatings of them and I. Skin once soft became a hardened crust like old bread which you bit and broke your teeth on. Ripped the lips that tried to kiss and caress. Dried the soothing streams of lovers’ sweat.

The others like me were never worse; impatience at their weakness and frailty, bitter anger at their groans and lack of courage. To scream, but never allowed to raise my voice, and so the screams and shouts became hard little eggs which burst deep inside me, tiny teeth to gnaw at my guts.

Nausea to rise up and choke me until the maggots crawled out through the gaps in my teeth and fell with muffled, heavy thuds to the floor, dragging their fat little bodies across the rough wood to find a crack here and there. Writhing white lines to sear my brain like a white-hot prison grate. They had gotten fat off of me and now the nothingness of my soul.

I reached deep inside the blankness within with my mind, a probing white hand in the night. I saw the bloody pieces of flesh which still clung desperately to teeth-marked ribs, rejected remains of the onslaught. Tenderly I felt around the wet edges of the inner sore, an ulcer sucking greedily, bitterly at itself. In fear, I sensed the pull on my pale probing mentality and struggled to free myself from this ravaged place. Sweat beaded, blood chilled, but to no avail. I could not escape from the misery of myself. Vanquished, I succumbed to the vacuum within.

Stark-stare through the glassy bars of my ribs past my now transparent skin to the world outside, to see them coming again, to feel the flurry of steel and flash of knives against my side until slivers of bone littered the fleshy floor about me.

A forest rose up in memory, blackened by fire, stinking of death and charred carcasses of trees. My eyes smarted in the haze as I stumbled weeping through the waste. Childish tears ran to my father and with a grimy finger on his face, said, “Daddy, it’s so ugly and . . . dead.”

He took me in his arms and brought me to a place in the black expanse where, reaching down, he scraped with his thumb. Magically, in a puff of ash, there shone an emerald, a splash of glittering green. He then cradled my tear-streaked face in his gentle hands. “Rest, my child,” he said. “With ashes comes life.”

A fire raged about me, blistering my skin, until the blisters popped and I was wet again. Then the fire fizzled out and the blackness about me was blacker still.

I pricked my finger with a splinter of a rib and watched it bloom bright red. My blood and life before it died in the brackened air. And with it went my hopes of planting seeds in some place where that life could take root and spring up, a tender shoot to face this empty place.

A blow from a fist smashed my ribs and bruised my face until I fell deeper within, my body broken again in pain. I found myself swimming in a pile of junk, clutter from the past dumped from mundane wanderings midst paths to dark to remember. Magazines, newspapers yellow with age, broken bottles to cut my feet and hands, an old rifle, letters never sent. I felt around to find the corner of some black box slicing my back to ribbons I could not erase. A razor to cut me more, and all the time that laughter pounding in my head.

There was a lock on the box, a big gray rusty one, wet with the slime of the maggots. I battered it with my fists, screaming with frustration until my hands were useless, bloody slabs. Finally, I kicked the box into the corner where it burst with the blow, gaping at me in invitation. I rushed to find its treasure, something to replace my loss, to fill this spent shell. Dust bit my aching eyes and the emptiness of that blank space seized my soul. Nothing. Nothing more than the laughter ringing in its hollowness. Bitter the taste in my mouth, I turned back to those ribs, saw the gun leaning, and with it in my hand, stared blindly out into the outer night.

I placed the gun between a crack in my ribs and gazed through the ghostly white tentacles surrounding me at the approaching shadows with their badges of shiny bright. I squeezed the trigger, once, twice, and saw the shadows fall. Then the night blossomed with a thousand tiny flowers of flame. The bullets made a strange whop, whop sound. Puzzled, I looked up to see pinpoints of light like jagged stars in the fleshy curtain above me. Bees buzzed around my head and I waved my hands in vain fury to ward them off. Then the last of those white bars before me shattered, exploded, and my face streamed with the shards. I heard a groan, a heavy sigh, deep down, rising up from below me. It grew in intensity until this whole place shook with the sound. I lifted my hands from my streaming face to my ears and lifted my voice to the cry. The walls bled and organs burst, vessels sheared in the wail until I was floating in a red boiling sea. Around the shattered ribs my skin began to split, tearing like a holy veil, and the sea with me rushed forth to pour through the crease.

Outside was slippery wet with cold rain as I streamed from the sidewalk to the street, past the flashing lights, evil white, moving figures all around. Anger at their leering drove me to cower and seek cover within the flood from the piercing lights and probing, poking hands. Down into the gutter we fled until the blackness of the sewer grate loomed and swallowed my blood, and I, into the gloom.

August 28, 1989

INRE

I saw them coming with their fists of steel and their tongues of knives to cut and cut me until I bled in tears, mocking me with their laughter. Muddy boots to splash within these precious pools of my agony. Fists to smash my face, ground my glasses until the shards cut and gouged my eyes. Blinded, I struck out, flailed wildly, at the laughter and myself until the welts and bruises showed deep purple from the beatings of them and I. Skin once soft became a hardened crust like old bread which you bit and broke your teeth on. Ripped the lips that tried to kiss and caress. Dried the soothing streams of lovers’ sweat.

The others like me were never worse; impatience at their weakness and frailty, bitter anger at their groans and lack of courage. To scream, but never allowed to raise my voice, and so the screams and shouts became hard little eggs which burst deep inside me, tiny teeth to gnaw at my guts.

Nausea to rise up and choke me until the maggots crawled out through the gaps in my teeth and fell with muffled, heavy thuds to the floor, dragging their fat little bodies across the rough wood to find a crack here and there. Writhing white lines to sear my brain like a white-hot prison grate. They had gotten fat off of me and now the nothingness of my soul.

I reached deep inside the blankness within with my mind, a probing white hand in the night. I saw the bloody pieces of flesh which still clung desperately to teeth-marked ribs, rejected remains of the onslaught. Tenderly I felt around the wet edges of the inner sore, an ulcer sucking greedily, bitterly at itself. In fear, I sensed the pull on my pale probing mentality and struggled to free myself from this ravaged place. Sweat beaded, blood chilled, but to no avail. I could not escape from the misery of myself. Vanquished, I succumbed to the vacuum within.

Stark-stare through the glassy bars of my ribs past my now transparent skin to the world outside, to see them coming again, to feel the flurry of steel and flash of knives against my side until slivers of bone littered the fleshy floor about me.

A forest rose up in memory, blackened by fire, stinking of death and charred carcasses of trees. My eyes smarted in the haze as I stumbled weeping through the waste. Childish tears ran to my father and with a grimy finger on his face, said, “Daddy, it’s so ugly and . . . dead.”

He took me in his arms and brought me to a place in the black expanse where, reaching down, he scraped with his thumb. Magically, in a puff of ash, there shone an emerald, a splash of glittering green. He then cradled my tear-streaked face in his gentle hands. “Rest, my child,” he said. “With ashes comes life.”

A fire raged about me, blistering my skin, until the blisters popped and I was wet again. Then the fire fizzled out and the blackness about me was blacker still.

I pricked my finger with a splinter of a rib and watched it bloom bright red. My blood and life before it died in the brackened air. And with it went my hopes of planting seeds in some place where that life could take root and spring up, a tender shoot to face this empty place.

A blow from a fist smashed my ribs and bruised my face until I fell deeper within, my body broken again in pain. I found myself swimming in a pile of junk, clutter from the past dumped from mundane wanderings midst paths to dark to remember. Magazines, newspapers yellow with age, broken bottles to cut my feet and hands, an old rifle, letters never sent. I felt around to find the corner of some black box slicing my back to ribbons I could not erase. A razor to cut me more, and all the time that laughter pounding in my head.

There was a lock on the box, a big gray rusty one, wet with the slime of the maggots. I battered it with my fists, screaming with frustration until my hands were useless, bloody slabs. Finally, I kicked the box into the corner where it burst with the blow, gaping at me in invitation. I rushed to find its treasure, something to replace my loss, to fill this spent shell. Dust bit my aching eyes and the emptiness of that blank space seized my soul. Nothing. Nothing more than the laughter ringing in its hollowness. Bitter the taste in my mouth, I turned back to those ribs, saw the gun leaning, and with it in my hand, stared blindly out into the outer night.

I placed the gun between a crack in my ribs and gazed through the ghostly white tentacles surrounding me at the approaching shadows with their badges of shiny bright. I squeezed the trigger, once, twice, and saw the shadows fall. Then the night blossomed with a thousand tiny flowers of flame. The bullets made a strange whop, whop sound. Puzzled, I looked up to see pinpoints of light like jagged stars in the fleshy curtain above me. Bees buzzed around my head and I waved my hands in vain fury to ward them off. Then the last of those white bars before me shattered, exploded, and my face streamed with the shards. I heard a groan, a heavy sigh, deep down, rising up from below me. It grew in intensity until this whole place shook with the sound. I lifted my hands from my streaming face to my ears and lifted my voice to the cry. The walls bled and organs burst, vessels sheared in the wail until I was floating in a red boiling sea. Around the shattered ribs my skin began to split, tearing like a holy veil, and the sea with me rushed forth to pour through the crease.

Outside was slippery wet with cold rain as I streamed from the sidewalk to the street, past the flashing lights, evil white, moving figures all around. Anger at their leering drove me to cower and seek cover within the flood from the piercing lights and probing, poking hands. Down into the gutter we fled until the blackness of the sewer grate loomed and swallowed my blood, and I, into the gloom.

August 28, 1989

INRE

I saw them coming with their fists of steel and their tongues of knives to cut and cut me until I bled in tears, mocking me with their laughter. Muddy boots to splash within these precious pools of my agony. Fists to smash my face, ground my glasses until the shards cut and gouged my eyes. Blinded, I struck out, flailed wildly, at the laughter and myself until the welts and bruises showed deep purple from the beatings of them and I. Skin once soft became a hardened crust like old bread which you bit and broke your teeth on. Ripped the lips that tried to kiss and caress. Dried the soothing streams of lovers’ sweat.

The others like me were never worse; impatience at their weakness and frailty, bitter anger at their groans and lack of courage. To scream, but never allowed to raise my voice, and so the screams and shouts became hard little eggs which burst deep inside me, tiny teeth to gnaw at my guts.

Nausea to rise up and choke me until the maggots crawled out through the gaps in my teeth and fell with muffled, heavy thuds to the floor, dragging their fat little bodies across the rough wood to find a crack here and there. Writhing white lines to sear my brain like a white-hot prison grate. They had gotten fat off of me and now the nothingness of my soul.

I reached deep inside the blankness within with my mind, a probing white hand in the night. I saw the bloody pieces of flesh which still clung desperately to teeth-marked ribs, rejected remains of the onslaught. Tenderly I felt around the wet edges of the inner sore, an ulcer sucking greedily, bitterly at itself. In fear, I sensed the pull on my pale probing mentality and struggled to free myself from this ravaged place. Sweat beaded, blood chilled, but to no avail. I could not escape from the misery of myself. Vanquished, I succumbed to the vacuum within.

Stark-stare through the glassy bars of my ribs past my now transparent skin to the world outside, to see them coming again, to feel the flurry of steel and flash of knives against my side until slivers of bone littered the fleshy floor about me.

A forest rose up in memory, blackened by fire, stinking of death and charred carcasses of trees. My eyes smarted in the haze as I stumbled weeping through the waste. Childish tears ran to my father and with a grimy finger on his face, said, “Daddy, it’s so ugly and . . . dead.”

He took me in his arms and brought me to a place in the black expanse where, reaching down, he scraped with his thumb. Magically, in a puff of ash, there shone an emerald, a splash of glittering green. He then cradled my tear-streaked face in his gentle hands. “Rest, my child,” he said. “With ashes comes life.”

A fire raged about me, blistering my skin, until the blisters popped and I was wet again. Then the fire fizzled out and the blackness about me was blacker still.

I pricked my finger with a splinter of a rib and watched it bloom bright red. My blood and life before it died in the brackened air. And with it went my hopes of planting seeds in some place where that life could take root and spring up, a tender shoot to face this empty place.

A blow from a fist smashed my ribs and bruised my face until I fell deeper within, my body broken again in pain. I found myself swimming in a pile of junk, clutter from the past dumped from mundane wanderings midst paths to dark to remember. Magazines, newspapers yellow with age, broken bottles to cut my feet and hands, an old rifle, letters never sent. I felt around to find the corner of some black box slicing my back to ribbons I could not erase. A razor to cut me more, and all the time that laughter pounding in my head.

There was a lock on the box, a big gray rusty one, wet with the slime of the maggots. I battered it with my fists, screaming with frustration until my hands were useless, bloody slabs. Finally, I kicked the box into the corner where it burst with the blow, gaping at me in invitation. I rushed to find its treasure, something to replace my loss, to fill this spent shell. Dust bit my aching eyes and the emptiness of that blank space seized my soul. Nothing. Nothing more than the laughter ringing in its hollowness. Bitter the taste in my mouth, I turned back to those ribs, saw the gun leaning, and with it in my hand, stared blindly out into the outer night.

I placed the gun between a crack in my ribs and gazed through the ghostly white tentacles surrounding me at the approaching shadows with their badges of shiny bright. I squeezed the trigger, once, twice, and saw the shadows fall. Then the night blossomed with a thousand tiny flowers of flame. The bullets made a strange whop, whop sound. Puzzled, I looked up to see pinpoints of light like jagged stars in the fleshy curtain above me. Bees buzzed around my head and I waved my hands in vain fury to ward them off. Then the last of those white bars before me shattered, exploded, and my face streamed with the shards. I heard a groan, a heavy sigh, deep down, rising up from below me. It grew in intensity until this whole place shook with the sound. I lifted my hands from my streaming face to my ears and lifted my voice to the cry. The walls bled and organs burst, vessels sheared in the wail until I was floating in a red boiling sea. Around the shattered ribs my skin began to split, tearing like a holy veil, and the sea with me rushed forth to pour through the crease.

Outside was slippery wet with cold rain as I streamed from the sidewalk to the street, past the flashing lights, evil white, moving figures all around. Anger at their leering drove me to cower and seek cover within the flood from the piercing lights and probing, poking hands. Down into the gutter we fled until the blackness of the sewer grate loomed and swallowed my blood, and I, into the gloom.

August 28, 1989

INRE

I saw them coming with their fists of steel and their tongues of knives to cut and cut me until I bled in tears, mocking me with their laughter. Muddy boots to splash within these precious pools of my agony. Fists to smash my face, ground my glasses until the shards cut and gouged my eyes. Blinded, I struck out, flailed wildly, at the laughter and myself until the welts and bruises showed deep purple from the beatings of them and I. Skin once soft became a hardened crust like old bread which you bit and broke your teeth on. Ripped the lips that tried to kiss and caress. Dried the soothing streams of lovers’ sweat.

The others like me were never worse; impatience at their weakness and frailty, bitter anger at their groans and lack of courage. To scream, but never allowed to raise my voice, and so the screams and shouts became hard little eggs which burst deep inside me, tiny teeth to gnaw at my guts.

Nausea to rise up and choke me until the maggots crawled out through the gaps in my teeth and fell with muffled, heavy thuds to the floor, dragging their fat little bodies across the rough wood to find a crack here and there. Writhing white lines to sear my brain like a white-hot prison grate. They had gotten fat off of me and now the nothingness of my soul.

I reached deep inside the blankness within with my mind, a probing white hand in the night. I saw the bloody pieces of flesh which still clung desperately to teeth-marked ribs, rejected remains of the onslaught. Tenderly I felt around the wet edges of the inner sore, an ulcer sucking greedily, bitterly at itself. In fear, I sensed the pull on my pale probing mentality and struggled to free myself from this ravaged place. Sweat beaded, blood chilled, but to no avail. I could not escape from the misery of myself. Vanquished, I succumbed to the vacuum within.

Stark-stare through the glassy bars of my ribs past my now transparent skin to the world outside, to see them coming again, to feel the flurry of steel and flash of knives against my side until slivers of bone littered the fleshy floor about me.

A forest rose up in memory, blackened by fire, stinking of death and charred carcasses of trees. My eyes smarted in the haze as I stumbled weeping through the waste. Childish tears ran to my father and with a grimy finger on his face, said, “Daddy, it’s so ugly and . . . dead.”

He took me in his arms and brought me to a place in the black expanse where, reaching down, he scraped with his thumb. Magically, in a puff of ash, there shone an emerald, a splash of glittering green. He then cradled my tear-streaked face in his gentle hands. “Rest, my child,” he said. “With ashes comes life.”

A fire raged about me, blistering my skin, until the blisters popped and I was wet again. Then the fire fizzled out and the blackness about me was blacker still.

I pricked my finger with a splinter of a rib and watched it bloom bright red. My blood and life before it died in the brackened air. And with it went my hopes of planting seeds in some place where that life could take root and spring up, a tender shoot to face this empty place.

A blow from a fist smashed my ribs and bruised my face until I fell deeper within, my body broken again in pain. I found myself swimming in a pile of junk, clutter from the past dumped from mundane wanderings midst paths to dark to remember. Magazines, newspapers yellow with age, broken bottles to cut my feet and hands, an old rifle, letters never sent. I felt around to find the corner of some black box slicing my back to ribbons I could not erase. A razor to cut me more, and all the time that laughter pounding in my head.

There was a lock on the box, a big gray rusty one, wet with the slime of the maggots. I battered it with my fists, screaming with frustration until my hands were useless, bloody slabs. Finally, I kicked the box into the corner where it burst with the blow, gaping at me in invitation. I rushed to find its treasure, something to replace my loss, to fill this spent shell. Dust bit my aching eyes and the emptiness of that blank space seized my soul. Nothing. Nothing more than the laughter ringing in its hollowness. Bitter the taste in my mouth, I turned back to those ribs, saw the gun leaning, and with it in my hand, stared blindly out into the outer night.

I placed the gun between a crack in my ribs and gazed through the ghostly white tentacles surrounding me at the approaching shadows with their badges of shiny bright. I squeezed the trigger, once, twice, and saw the shadows fall. Then the night blossomed with a thousand tiny flowers of flame. The bullets made a strange whop, whop sound. Puzzled, I looked up to see pinpoints of light like jagged stars in the fleshy curtain above me. Bees buzzed around my head and I waved my hands in vain fury to ward them off. Then the last of those white bars before me shattered, exploded, and my face streamed with the shards. I heard a groan, a heavy sigh, deep down, rising up from below me. It grew in intensity until this whole place shook with the sound. I lifted my hands from my streaming face to my ears and lifted my voice to the cry. The walls bled and organs burst, vessels sheared in the wail until I was floating in a red boiling sea. Around the shattered ribs my skin began to split, tearing like a holy veil, and the sea with me rushed forth to pour through the crease.

Outside was slippery wet with cold rain as I streamed from the sidewalk to the street, past the flashing lights, evil white, moving figures all around. Anger at their leering drove me to cower and seek cover within the flood from the piercing lights and probing, poking hands. Down into the gutter we fled until the blackness of the sewer grate loomed and swallowed my blood, and I, into the gloom.

August 28, 1989

In the Quietness

in the quietness of the trees
i knelt on bloodied knees
and collapsed upon the ground
agonized alone

then nothing broke the silence
i rose up renewed
and moved off back down the hill
the leaves rustled in my hair

November 1, 1987

In the Quietness

in the quietness of the trees
i knelt on bloodied knees
and collapsed upon the ground
agonized alone

then nothing broke the silence
i rose up renewed
and moved off back down the hill
the leaves rustled in my hair

November 1, 1987

In the Quietness

in the quietness of the trees
i knelt on bloodied knees
and collapsed upon the ground
agonized alone

then nothing broke the silence
i rose up renewed
and moved off back down the hill
the leaves rustled in my hair

November 1, 1987

In the Quietness

in the quietness of the trees
i knelt on bloodied knees
and collapsed upon the ground
agonized alone

then nothing broke the silence
i rose up renewed
and moved off back down the hill
the leaves rustled in my hair

November 1, 1987