Growth

When a seed, sharp and bitter is planted at the core of your very being, with no escape, and your soul is a haunted desert of howls... when it tears you open and fills the apertures with salt and slashes through, but your lips are sealed as your eyes scream in silent, deafening horror... when it kills you atom by atom, and you die a cellular death each second yet never allowed to wince nor flinch... don't frown, don't cry, just feel the pain twisting its bloody dagger in your pieced-together heart and choke as the noose tightens around your neck and the lock perforates your lips and the tongue is tied around itself... face the monsters but don't say their names, no, you have no right to be angry, says the world... MOVE PAST IT, you are commanded as you drown in the lava of your fury and your flesh burns with the desire to serve the same poison you were forced to drink... but your bloodied hands remain tied.

That is when growth happens.