I pound my torn fists against the sides of this box, but the effort is useless – there is no escaping oneself.  Scratching, clawing, chewing a splinter I manage to create in my mad scrambling does no good; I simply ravage myself further. Bloody and raw, I fill with a pressure that threatens to burst from my haggard being, further tainting this polluted soul.

There is no escape from the crushing weight of my prison. I beg to be saved from the anguish in which I languor; but there is no salvation, not for me; not for one so undeserving, uncherished, unloved. There is only the false glimmer of light, one my inner demon allows me to glimpse for his enjoyment and my unrelenting torture.

Scuffed, scrapped, tattered and torn, a thing not palatable to another, I slide to my knees; a pile of rent flesh brutalized by the walls surrounding me. I clutch at the only thing I have left, a scrap of sanity, but my fingers… they no longer close. A wail erupts from my stricken lungs; my raw throat bellows a croon no one will ever hear.

My demon laughs; he finds my anguish a great delight. I am a toy to be played with, a thing of distraction, a means to pass the eternity in which he will dwell within me.  I cannot escape him, though I try – all the more to his amusement. He watches me struggle in futility, basks in the restriction of breath that bands my burning lungs. He hears my silent shriek of agony, licks the salty tears that streak my filth-ridden face.  He is my tormentor, he is my keeper, he is my salvation – though he shall never grant it.

The walls of this box are by now a forest of splinters; it matters not where I lay for comfort, I find none – there is only jagged surface to be sought here. This prison so impenetrable, no other shall ever glimpse it, nor shall I ever be released from it. I have no false hope, only a fool would hope for mercy from such a thing.  Though I am a fool, I am not that fool…

Awash in a pool of my own shattered dreams, I find no blame other than mine to own. My demon chuckles as he reminds me this box is of my own design, made impregnable by my own failings.

Yet still, I rub my ragged and blood caked palm along the shreds of wall hoping to find the smallest fissure, a mere crack, any sign that can offer even the falsest of hope that someday I will break free – but there is none.  There never has been.

In this box, I see my deepest desires turn to dust; my most cherished dreams die; my fate sealed forever.  I find my demon observing my anguish, relishing the unending torture of my most exquisite pain.  Here, I am me – I am this quivering thing that lies upon the floor begging for a mercy that will never come; beseeching my demon for a small measure of what others are granted, but I shall never have. I am destined to scrape and scratch and gnaw at this unyielding pen that is minuscule in breadth, yet without end.

Why will it not swallow me and put to rest this pathetic shadow of my former self? Consume me, I beg of it, but it will not. What use am I to the box if it has no grief from which to feed; no pain left to color its darkened walls; no feather to pluck while my remnants jerk in concert?

My demon wants me locked in this box for an eternity, perhaps because it seeks the same as I do – a measure of level tolerance. It lives a lone existence, my demon, though I believe it was meant to, whereas I am meant for more. I am meant to be free from this punji-ridden hell of despair…

Another false hope I harbor; another path to mental decay I shall have to avoid for as long as I can. One more shattered reality in a world filled with tightly sealed boxes. Yet without these boxes, would I not be only an empty shell? Another harsh reality to be born on the back of so many others I wish were not mine. But the lie told that all is just, is just that – a lie. With each whispered falsehood the box containing my soul shrinks further, the desperate pitch of my moaning crescendos grander, the laughter of my demon grows stronger; a promise that one day, I will succumb to this crippling madness.

~ Nina D’Arcangela

© Copyright 2015 Nina D’Arcangela. All Rights Reserved

49 thoughts on “Raw

    1. Thank you, Thomas! 🙂 Hopefully other’s will interpret it as it relates to their experience or imagination. Like most of my angsty rambles, this one comes from the soul and is a glimpse of the damage done by others to my inner world.


  1. Nina…brilliant…powerful…painful…intense…vibrantly too real. You breathe life into emotion; you put motion into prose. I am hard pressed to think of anyone else who can capture the intricacies of the soul, the darkness within it, and transform it into something beautiful. I loved every word of this 🙂


    1. Thank you, Joe! I do love to mold my pain and turmoil into intricate (sometimes blatant) prose. One of my partners tells me that if my emotive writing doesn’t leave your soul aching, then I’m not happy with it… I think she might be right! lol 😉


    1. Thank you, Shawn! My metaphorical boxes are ways in which I compartmentalize feelings; both perceived wrongs and happy thoughts – though I seldom write about the latter! I’m so happy you stopped by The Damned – but I warn you, the taint shall never rinse off! lol 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Eden. A fractured mind struggling to survive is a curiosity well-worth exploring. Thank you for stopping by our Pen of the Damned wall to have a read – it’s greatly appreciated, Dark Geisha! 🙂


    1. Hi Elaine! Thank you!! I always hope the reader will view what I’ve written in an interpretive manner and draw from it what they associate with. For me (when I’m writing in this style), it’s the better part of success to manage to convey emotions without pinning them solely to my experience or inference. And – hells yeah! I love that you got ‘chilling things’ from this. 😉

      Thank for stopping by our Damned wall and experiencing what we do here. I hope you’ll find your way back and sample all the authors – they’re a fabulous group! 😀


  2. What a soul-searching trip of angst and decay you spread before us, Nina. As said above, this story could mean many different things to each of us. Great tale telling, my friend.



    1. Ahhh… a soul-searching trip of angst and decay! The perfect description for this piece, Blaze!! (In my mind – you just nailed it!) I don’t wish the pain aspect on anyone else, other than to feel something deeply when reading – what better way to share yourself as an emotive writer? I’m happy to know my prose is open enough that many can see the reflection of what they will within it! Thank you, my blazing friend!! 🙂


    1. I do love to rake the reader across burning coals of angst, madness and sorrow (as do you, dear one)! I’m glad you liked it, Magenta – if our Tint of Madness hadn’t enjoyed the journey in my monologue of impending insanity, then I would have failed in my attempt! Many hugs, and much appreciation, beautiful lady! 🙂


        1. I’m glad to hear that you’re enthusiastic about coming back, but please be aware that some of the content on Pen of the Damned is ADULT content and not appropriate for someone under the age of 18. Please don’t expose yourself to anything that you shouldn’t be reading here on our blog.

          Thank you again for all the kind words!


          1. Pffew… the Harry Potter comment worried me. I love all our Damned writers, but we are not the right grouping for a youngling to read! I’m glad you could laugh at it… always a dicey subject to approach! 😉


          2. Lol lol lol! Feel free to think I’m under 18 any day of the week! (I’m am in fact 35, so major thank you!) Tony my ( ummm…. Let’s call him my crazy , extremely bossy crazy Frenchman) says that I can be a little bit naive , to trusting and at times bratty . But trust me the are things we get up to that would make you blush! Lol , sorry over share! Happy Christmas my lovely . X

            Liked by 1 person

          3. Being well above the age of consent myself, not much makes me blush. But as long as you and your friend are enjoying life, what more could you ask for? Thank you for the kind Christmas wishes, I hope you are having a wonderful Holiday Season yourself! 😀


          4. Also – Harry Potter and hunger games are my level as English is not my first or second langue and I’m dyslexic , so me reading anything gets thumbs up!

            Liked by 1 person

    1. LOL – that’s me, the tortured soul trail-blazer of horror! 😀 Thank you, Hunter. There are times I know no other way than to open the flood gates and let it happen… Maybe I’m new a crypto??? The Neener of the Lower Hudson Valley! Could be bigger than Squatchnado… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

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