I hear sounds
Seemingly normal to others
A wave of memory and regret for me
It crashes into the shore cruel and unforgiving
Like a stained glass window
The paint is always there
Never leaving
And shows strongest when light is cast upon it
The sounds carry their own stories based on who you ask
Anger-fueled words flare out of his mouth
like blue flames
I can feel the energy darken and turn cold
I sit silently
keeping my eyes locked downward,
absorbing every atom of hatred
that forms the sharp sounds being emitted.
I try not to show how uncomfortable I am
instead, I stare at the hypnotic,
damaging radiation waves
bellowing invisibly from the light of my phone screen,
pretending not to be affected by the unnecessary
vulgarities spouting from his ego.
in less than an instant,
the vibes go from comfortably chill
to anxiously wishing I was anywhere
but in this passenger seat.
every sentence carves a new scar
into my already damaged soul
as my brain categorizes each word
where it rightfully belongs.
I’m grateful for my oversized sunglasses
that hide my wincing eyes—
until I catch him looking sideways at me.
I solemnly mutter something about it being rush hour,
trying to become as small as my body will let me be.
I hope it seems like I’m too engulfed
in whatever stupid game I'm playing
to notice the short-fused flip-outs
that now happen every single time
we're in the car.
ran dumb thought
about bought
lesee i let AI o u
tune my poems
and it's so true
entomb my tomes
now for guilt
wrapping quilt
or satisfaction or both
placate faction doth
i don't write know more
blank white boar
less than not
in ending this
game of rot
composting fbook
if you care to look
just don't kiss
any dyslexic
mix or be sic
sans which rye
on rub in put in pi
know where going
less point more thumb
all ready now showing
orange ain't knew dumb
can't get past
third weak
sans rubbing kash
praytell pay less
peter's pall
merrikka stall
must get this sin
don't kill venezuelan
since rus needs busy be
now that you crane
has no see
but blown apart brain
an wouldn't want sia
defend with weapon i ran
brics expect expand
wooden wont bee ya
all drunk
aslib progressive punk
hanging hard
on mccarthy card
ptsd owns petard
widow mite well discard
hope sans nope
smoke in dumpster
grand master
some kind disaster
bad star scopes afar
goin' comin' bummin'
be a bummer
drive beatle hummer
lessee AI o u
pay rent come spent
less point more hint
The Worst Grief
I believe the worst grief you can feel,
Is the grief you feel for people that hurt you.
You paint pictures of all people in your mind.
But pain dealt to you doesn’t give you time to paint into that picture.
Pain taints your oils, your pigments and acrylics.
And the portrait is distorted,
Burned and burdened with blood spilled out of your own fingers.
But in the rearview you can’t see those smaller smears.
You see the face of the person you cared about one day and an age ago.
The poison only shows back up when you back up —
Take a closer look into that painting.
Its an optical illusion,
Occlusion clouding conscious thought.
That one last “I should text him.” Or that one last “he’s better now, surely.”
You built up walls to keep them out.
So why do we keep opening the gate when they come back?
river of anger
blackened dreams remember rage
harvesting illness
REGIME CHANGE STORY
COUNTRYWIDE PTSD
SUCH INSANITY
I went into the movie theater with Joe
The plot drew me in, I went with the flow
The hero had flaws, the heroine was odd
Suddenly I leapt up and shouted "Oh God"
The emotional blowtorch had let out a blast
A reminder of my sickening past.
Joe led me outside to the cool evening air
He asked, "what possessed you to disrupt in there?"
My reaction died down, the alarm turned off
I looked around, gave an embarrassed cough.
Joe said "There's a psychiatrist down the road"
I replied, "No doctor can lighten this load."
I said that edges are blunted, when reality is stark.
I live in a watercolor picture rather than sharp
Joe downplayed my past, but looked sad:
he said "your shouting makes us look mad"
So I'll go without Joe to the movies, that's where I feel:
Maybe in that false world I briefly get real.
A cage opens that routine shuts tight
I can return to darkness when they turn on the light.
Joe and I can go fishing, that's still alright.
Written By: D. Collins 1/12/26
Global PTSD is a man made creation.
Limiting the places we once took vacations.
We shouldn't visit Cancun or European cities.
Something bad could happen to our families.
There's a change in the air and not for the best.
There is a serious risk travelling outside the U.S.
This was accomplished within the course of a year.
An American passport is not welcomed anywhere.
It's impossible to tell who just might have a beef.
Since we've managed to piss off about every country.
My advice would be to stick close to home.
To avoid the negative underlying tones.
The act of healing,
this work of repair,
this mending—
does not vanish into completion.
It does not end in wholeness,
nor conclude in perfection.
It ends in stability.
It settles like stone into balance,
into a ground that holds.
And from that bedrock,
a breath of light drifts forward.
Something quieter begins to move;
a softer current stirs,
as though the tide begins to turn.
Not desire, nor echo;
not need, nor longing;
not hunger, nor ache,
nor plea—
but the shimmer of essence,
the quiet weight of presence,
the stillness of being.
They rise
like unseen constellations
aligning themselves in silence—
each one tied to a choice
I have not yet made.
What comes for me
moves with intention.
What stays
does so because it is meant to root.
What leaves
makes space for a greater unfolding.
I feel myself opening to it—
slowly, bravely,
the way a soul unclenches
after years of holding its own weight.
The shame of shaken soldiers
runs
deeper than any ka-bar cut;
il cuore's battle-cries drowned
out by trains carrying boxes
that will contain them —
one day,
if they're lucky
Gli occhi dell'amore
crashed into reinforced glass
when she met the war-child's gaze —
"Is he cruel or courageous?,"
she asked, retreating
across the battlefield
"Is he cowardly or compassionate?,"
her morbid mind drifting
Peace has weakened me —
power taken, slow death
pain trapped, slow death
praise tainted, slow death
pieced together, slow death —
Apocalypse waiting for
the bliss of war;
sociable metal in the hands of
humans playing heroes and villains,
gods and devils
Whiskey road,
all alone,
here we go again/
Hitting switchbacks,
going too fast,
chasing down my sin/
Headlights crawl,
through the pouring rain,
to where the road gives out/
Glass eye’d stare,
same whispered prayers,
plunged deep into the black/
My PTSD is here within me. Tries to control my mind. Tries to dictate what I find.
My PTSD lives here with me. Can control some actions and thoughts. Bilateral movements ground my defence to its calls.
My PTSD creates vivid memories which lock me into dark spaces alone. I have to act when the triggers are squeezed by something or someone.
My PTSD makes me feel ashamed, hollow and weak. Attacks can come on in the night. Wake in fear, tears and shaking damn cries. But I know it won’t imprison me. Therapy gave the tools to fight back you see. Tools now here within me.
My PTSD wasn’t asked for you see. It stays here within me. But now I can control it you see.
My PTSD will never define the character of me. It’ll never leave me you see. But it is just a part of me.
The sun closes her eyes, and I must close mine, this time,
but my breaking blood-brain barrier bids otherwise.
Another long night bodes foreboding in this light.
Forbidden thoughts seep deep from blood to brain.
I must fight, again, another tormenting night.
Earth's most frightening repetitive
cycle
plays on repeat as I try to cycle through
my backups to no avail, leaving no choice.
Swallowed by every detail of distress, I wait.
I await the end of another night laced with fear -
packed with pills meant to sedate me, but never did,
I waste away, waiting for the sun to open her eyes once again
No relaxation
Must keep my distance from you
I see flashbacks of your face
You don't have me trapped
Your comments I will ignore
I'm safe from your delusions
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