Originally posted on Americana Injustica:
You wanted it… you just had to get, you begged for it: a piece of me… and then, that was it – I did accept, the invitation sent, maybe ungraciously… I showed up one day, remember? when the skies were grey, guess you hadn’t been, expecting me… but there I…
Originally posted on Americana Injustica:
Would you be, any fonder of me, if I suddenly chose, to start listening? Would you decide, to more deeply confide, the darkness behind, your odd eccentricities? Shall I unbind, this heart of mine, lay it down on your table, where the other parts lie? I suppose you’d prefer, if…
Originally posted on Americana Injustica:
Now I lay me down to sleep again, in the grips of a dread that I slumber within, the same unforgiving and cramped position, wound up mentally and the ratcheting begins, the memories and tragedies flood fatally in, my body won’t sink and my mind only swims, things I regret…
Originally posted on Americana Injustica:
Shitty tattoos,Absent front tooth,Alcohol infused,Jaw flapping,Knuckles rapping,Air leaking through,Big brown eyes,Telling nonstop lies,You’re fucking high,Unclean,Unforeseen,Not enough miles between,That stinky lifestyle,The steaming shitpile,Rusted turnstiles,Nothing worthwhile,I lost too,Much to you,It’s all bled through,The truth,Fire country,Attention hungry,Back full of monkeys,There’s no saving you,You’re too far beyond,Slithering, And talking long,There’s no fixing you,You built…
Originally posted on Mocking Bird Down:
The trappings we drag, for the overnight stay in the damp, dark, cold to the touch; parts of the hell that we personally designed just for moments like these; when the world feels too small for how much we don’t feel.
Reblogged this on Americana Injustica.
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Love this kind of poetry – it really reminds me how I’ve written about OCD(sorry to sound like a broken f’ing record with that but it’s true). I get some of the metaphors cos I aim for the same kind of things. I probably don’t get them all though cos I’m notoriously shite with metaphor!
With that in mind, ahem, I thought mayebe the last bit was about you stopping responding to the PTSD the way you normally would and letting it run its course. i.e. a therapeutic tool for letting the fear wash overr you without reacting(a bit like ERP therapy) – to the sufferer it feels like defeat, giving in, but if it can be endured, it can lead to benefits – like freeing the hostage, severing the bonds.
Also shadow boxer is a great metaphor for PTSD(and OCD “Shut up about OCD already!!!” “OK! jeez”).
So yeah, rockin good poem. Sweet picture too.
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All I can say to this is:
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
You’re golden.
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Hurrah! Bring on the beer and dancers. A celebration is in order!
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And a big fake cake with a naked chick inside who pops out with confetti!
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Ha ha – I remember that in Some Like it Hot but I think it was a guy with a tommy gun who popped out instead. I’ve been scared of those cakes since to be honest 😦
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My point exactly.
I swear to the Gods I was gonna write “pops out with an assault rifle” but thought you’d think me a psychopath. …
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That’s funny. Well maybe we’re both psychopaths!?
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I could go with it….lol
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Right – see you at psycho HQ at midnight. Bring your balaclava and razor blades. Don’t be late!
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Lol
Dont forget the Peat Lime and tent stakes.
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you read my mind 😉
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Empowering thoughts at their finest!
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