Creative Corner: Poetry by Ritual Abuse Survivors	Ritual Abuse, Ritual Crime and Healing

 

Between the Heartbeats

 

Infinity stretched between the heartbeats,
each pulse slower and slower, louder and louder.
Life dripping crimson from the steel
glinting in the cold moonlight, as
They wait to quench their Thirst
and try in vain to fill their empty souls.

Flames dancing from candle to candle,
shaping the faces masked in shifting shadows,
announcing the arrival of the darkness that
Swallows the Soul.

Life flows away,
pooling on the floor beneath me,
screams and pain floating in the pool
with shattered pieces of flesh and bone.

Pain is an old friend,
gone now, gone away, forsaken,
never to return.

Love is a series of masks,
one holding me in its arms, hiding the world
another drowning me in burning sacrifice,
Love becomes morsels of food
and weapons of pain.

Hope never was.

Where can I go?
Who can I be?
What must I do?
What can I believe?

How can I die?

I must not die; I cannot die, I must remember,
I must survive.

But now, it is time to sleep
to put aside the wounds and scars
to seal my own masks within.

I will come back, and remember
between the heartbeats.

• Marc

 

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