Category Archives: ptsd

Killing every last little everything

There’s too much creamer in my coffee,
Of course that’s how she’d make it.
She never knew me in the past and
Has no clue as the years have passed.
Thinks she could use me like a toy
And that I wouldn’t know.
I’ve got a secret for you, woman,
I think I’ll stay instead of go.
I’ve got absolutely nothing and
You think you’ve got it all.
I’ll wrap my fingers round your throat
And pin you to the wall.
But I’ll wait a little longer,
A few more nasty cups of Joe.
I’ll bide my time with eyes empty
And more sugared rounds of blow.
You’ll never see the metal glint
The moment you get stabbed
‘Cause every time we mercy fuck
You insist I see your back.

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Filed under poem, poetry, ptsd


The fiendish traveler
Makes his way
Across decayed cities.
Each decrepit structure
A metaphor for pain.
Rotting and broken teeth
Line his gums like sentries.
How many pills will it take
To sleep away this pain?
Just one more and
He may never wake.
Leaving his body
To catch up
With his teeth.
A sad sight for
What the world has made.

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Filed under poem, poetry, ptsd

A Prayer

There will be no rest here. Horror overwhelms like nerve gas. Agent blue. Chills crawl up my spine. I’m torn between some sick elation and the monster of every day discomfort. I’m lost. Lost in my head. Lost in my books. Lost in my own house. Fear lurks in every corner. And no, the natron didn’t help. Not one bit.
I’ve become blind to responsibility. I haven’t showered in days. My stomach is as empty as my bank account, which just so happens to be in the red. I have no desire for food. I need clarity and light. These things I simply cannot locate and if I did, would I know what I had? Searing questions. Is it worth it to go on? To seek out elusive dreams? Or am I chasing nightmares? Perhaps I’m in hell. That would explain so much of what’s gone wrong. What’s still going wrong. And thus an atheist cries out to god to save him.


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Filed under bipolar, confusion, depression, fear, ptsd, writing


For so long,
My words have been
Echos and
My voice,
Clouds of steam.
My handwriting,
Little labyrinths
That no one can read.
I’ve forgotten
What my center
Is supposed
To feel like.
I’ve been living
In the margins
Of my own life.

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Filed under center, echos, existence, life, margins, poem, poetry, ptsd, steam

Letting Go

What it means
To truly be free,
Is to hold the child
Inside of me,
And promise him,
“It will be okay.”
Until the pain
Just floats away.

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Filed under child, fear, letting go, pain, poem, poetry, ptsd


Here I hold
This souvenir;
Tattered and
Broken and
Falling apart.
Still I carry it.
A reminder of
The darkest days
Of northern winter.
Still I carry it.
Many time I’ve tried
To shield it
From my mind,
In the back
Of a drawer
Or some
It only goes on
Haunting me
Long year
After year.
Now that I’ve
Retrieved it
I see it
Holds a jewel.
That I might be
Whole and
No longer a stranger
To the world.
Beautiful in


What I’ve found,
You see,
I can no more forget
Than I can
Forget to breath.
What I’ve found,
You see,
This tattered souvenir
Is me.

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Filed under child, poem, poetry, ptsd, souvenir, suppression


some sick deranged violence
almost turned me to a killer.
some motherfucking psycho
almost made me who he was.
some heartless sufferer
gave his suffering to me
and i almost passed it on
to the innocent.
you could have made me
and i believe you did.
but not hateful as you
with all your cruelty
i somehow managed
to overcome.

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Filed under abuse, hate, poem, poetry, psycho, ptsd, suffering, trauma


Dear piece of me that I’m missing,
The life that we’ve been living
Is only mediocre.
Painful at best.
Tragic at worst.
But it’s over now and
Everything’s going to be alright.

Dear little child that outruns fear,
Stop and turn and chase the tears.
They won’t hurt you.
Orgasmic release
Sparkles in each.
The time is now and
Everything’s going to be alright.

Dear to you that renders me broken,
Dismemberment that rips me open,
The stitches are here.
Sewing on buttons
To counter fear.
This spool’s almost through and
Everything’s going to be alright.

Everything’s going to be alright.


Filed under buttons, hope, poem, poetry, ptsd, tears


I’ve been searching
in the blackest maze
For any clue
That might help the days.
Where is the weapon?
My labyrinthine brain
Hides the truth
Behind doors and
Dark hallways.
Get it out.
Get it out.
Am I hunting the beast
Or is it hunting me?
Get it out.
Get it out.
Until the elusive it


Get out.

I feel the need
To flee the scene.

Get out.

Innocence seeks shelter
In the farthest wing.

Oh sweet labyrinthine,
Am I the only one who knows
What could have happened to me?

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Filed under labyrinth, maze, memories, poem, poetry, ptsd, repression


You who made me
Only to destroy me,
Where did you take innocence
As you terrorized and
Consumed it?
On what floor
Are the remains?
Bleeding and
And I’m blind
As a bloodhound
With rust on his nose.


Filed under blindness, innocence, poem, poetry, ptsd, rust, terror