Somebody taps a chisel,
into a phantom nerve end,
my body racks and wriggles,
as I wake up screaming again,
somebody drives a freight-train,
through thinly-laid dreamscape,
somebody else is using my name,
and handing out my handshake,
someone is chasing me constantly,
anytime I look his face is somewhere,
like a silent horror that’s stalking me,
with a presence that’s everywhere,
somebody rips up the stitches,
the sound of Velcro against my screams,
the scenery changes and switches,
but the stitches are ripped out unfailingly,
somebody please tell me,
this isn’t the best of recovery,
that spending more time in therapy,
will allow the stitches to dissolve naturally.
The bellboy silently closed the heavy hotel door behind him as he left the cushy room. S swallowed hard and calmly shut her eyes. She let her head roll back against the wall and began to quietly count to herself in the dark closet. She heard J’s voice float to her in the darkness, boisterously speaking to the man who’s name was signed on the hotel paperwork scattered across the glass coffee table about 10 feet in front of the closet.
J was carrying on about pointless things, trifling topics that filled the empty space between herself and the jewel collector she was captivating with nonsense.
S stealthily sat up on her haunches, readying herself to spring to her feet.
“I hear it’s lovely there in the spring.”
She heard the sarcasm oozing from J’s low murmuring voice through the darkness.
The footsteps were growing louder, getting nearer, the floor beneath S shook lightly as they approached the closet she was hidden it, lying in wait.
As the closet door opened, S registered the surprise in the face of the jewel dealer; he knew he had been gotten. The jacket he had intended to hang up in the closet was already wrapped tightly around his torso from behind, and J’s maniacal grin peeked at S through the darkness from over his left shoulder.
“Don’t make a sound.”
S was deftly binding his legs already and, rather gracefully, switching her position in the closet with the jewel dealer’s next to J. THUD. The man fell full on his weight like a sack of potatoes into a heap on the closet floor. Two wide eyes staring up at the calmly poised women from the floor of the closet.
“Give us the keys.” J thrust out her hand towards the panicked face in the inky darkness.
The jewel dealers words stuttered pathetically through gasps and quiet sobs.
“You will be a ghost full of regrets if you don’t stop talking and hand me those keys.”
S was wearing her serious face as she said this. Nervous pocket shuffling in the closet; keys jingling, coins rattling, until finally a small ring with two tiny nondescript keys on it was tossed through the space between them. A groan of miserable defeat followed from the closet.
I’ve been circling the moldy, plankton encrusted bottom layers of life; feeding off of the slowly sinking debris that once littered the surface layers: the leftovers of a long-ago feast that I attended up there.
My vision has adapted to the murk; my breathing has adjusted to the oxygen depletion of dangerous depths and harrowing heights; my skin has settled into the wrinkled prune-esqueness of an over-long bubble bath; my hair now growing shafts of seaweed and tangly kelp in place of it’s natural fibers.
I’m a flounder, living with a great white shark who is lazy with a eating disorder; I am stuck in the suction of his hefty submerged wake; I am seemingly happy to gobble up the chunks of shit that fall from the sides of his razor sharp bite as he chews incessantly; I am his shadow down here.
Disenchanted by the headlong rush,
that got the attention of both of us,
beginnings are things that eventually must,
become the contrasted endings that suck,
no apologies to be accepted or said,
no singularities that turned it all bad,
it isn’t just me and my tragic instability,
it’s also due to you and your insecurity,
the instant I recognized the feeling I had,
a tapping began in the back of my head,
a sensation I couldn’t quite put into words,
a commanding thing in demand to be heard,
this feeling grew increasingly familiar to me,
like something hazed over by the glaze of a dream,
that makes itself seen at the edges of sleep,
just before I awaken to the sound of my own screams,
singlehanded have I wrought havoc in reply,
understand it, that I brought my own demise,
its turbulence and ordinance have me seeing things,
View original post 7 more words
strung across a radar’s rim,
a sported trophy limb for limb;
with the seed of what’s human,
however, unrecognizable to them;
straddled astride the old confines,
mirroring through space and time;
no changes made to our story-line,
ancient wisdom of the senile mind;
across every galaxy in the sky,
expand the Universe to erase the naked eye;
can’t help but to wonder why,
we encourage each other to wither and die;
the mad dash at being first in line,
flocked together on the doorstep of the divine,
receptive to carbon-based humankind,
an immaculate conception that’s been streamlined .
Phillip's latest reveries
A journey to find myself again...
In this blog, I talk about injustice that we struggle to recognize and/or blindly commit.
Navigating the wasteland
Poetry, Fiction and Random Ramblings
Live, like the moment belongs to you
The poetry of ineptitude.
Rhymes and Reasons
Live Recovery Wisely
Just your average PhD student using the internet to enhance their CV
For Dog Lovers Only
Find your Inner Voice and Attain the Freedom to Fully Express Yourself
to display words in whatever fashion inspires the soul
Trying to navigate this life with CPTSD, Anxiety, Panic Disorder and OCD.
Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
The wolf that wins is the one fed
A girl travelling around the world on a motorcycle.
Art and Lifestyle by Brandon Knoll
life, liberty, love, and laughter
Talking about what's important to veterans with disabilities.
My mental health and I: From the darkest corners of my mind to wordpress
"For your born writer, nothing is so healing as the realization that he has come upon the right word.” —Catherine Drinker Bowen
Homo sapien. Perceiving introvert. Socially anxious. Aspiring screenwriter. #WIP: Life.
There is a storm coming, are you ready?
The ongoing saga of Delila Black trying to get to Nashville.
ATTENTION TO ADD / ADHD
I'm the last words of a slain poet
An occasional blog
It's just G.
don't make people feel bad about something they genuinely love