I choose to interpret everything I just wrote in a metaphorical context:
My words this morning are the blood spewing out of my emotional wounds.

“Our movements have torn a hole through you.” 

I assume… the movements of whatever force guides and loves me and works around me and through me and occasionally uses me as a tool … or a weapon as the case may be.

Your movements haven’t torn a hole through me.

They’ve filled a hole in me.

“Nothing worth having comes without a fight. Got to kick at the darkness til it bleeds daylight.”