Let It Shriek - a poem about trauma and fragmentation of self

Let It Shriek

Every time I think I'm free
it all comes rushing back at me.
But now I'm worn, my edges blurred.
Might not remember what I heard.
(And if I do, am I really sure?)

The pieces never fit back
the way they did before you broke her.
Before you broke me.
(Was that me?)
It's been so long.
She, me, whoever that child was
is a ghost, a memory.

The blood stains never fade.
Not even with sun—not even with age.
The images remain frozen
(thankfully frozen)
and the pain resides
in the shower
or in sleep.

Obscured by the curtain of water
or beneath the veil of dreams,
I (she?) can cry, even weep,
let it shriek,
let it speak,
let it seep.

The evil that invaded safe.
The night that took her mind away.
The words that remained locked up tight,
taunting her with sleeping memories
and shaping her waking life.

I (she?) can let it go
when no one's looking.
I (she?) can stoke the coals
or let them be.

The lovely girl
still playing with fire.
The lonely girl
still counting her goodbyes.
Which storied headline
will you apply
to my very real demise?