Blunt Assault

Blunt objects jabbing at my heart,
relentless blows that tear me apart.
Each strike, each shove, a wound reopened,
skewering the crevice where darkness has spoken.

I feel the jagged edges tear,
attacking places I didn’t know were there.
The demon stirs, it rears its head,
a specter born from fears I’ve fed.

Skewering deep, they prod and pry,
as shadows dance and echoes cry.
I battle the demon that hides within,
a war that feels too hard to win.

The blunt assault, it doesn’t relent,
driving pain that will not be spent.
I brace for impact, breath held tight,
fighting to survive this endless night.

For what is this demon but a piece of me,
a part I long to set free?
Yet every jab, every strike,
feels like a fight for my very life.

Blunt objects, cruel and cold,
strike at the parts that I can’t hold.
They skewer the crevice, expose the raw,
attacking the wounds I never saw.

Still, I resist, though weary and worn,
facing the demon with spirit torn.
For in the pain, there’s something true—
a path to healing, a way through.

So let the blunt blows strike their mark,
I’ll face the darkness, I’ll brave the dark.
For through this battle, a light might start,
beyond the pain that pierces my heart.