An appetite of the soul.

what we call gods
do not care they
do not exist

If nothing matters
     Unless, it does
Trying at all
     Survival, pointless
Being right
     Unless you were wrong
Depression
      When you never cried.

Maybe, it's all a game
      When you never played
Or not a game
       Ever, at all
It's beyond all comprehension
       Because it's simple as hell
But you were  
        Never the believer.

You're just a contrarion
         A rebel
Never had one  
          Cell in your brain
Or any empathy
           You just acted along
Against everything

So really what's right?
            Nothing, at all...not a thing

dreaming of buddhist
monk i am not even close
i write poetry

I am trapped in a mire of reality
That was my past
One of submission and pain
I struggle endlessly to forget
The feel of hard fists
As they rattle my head
The taste of salty blood on my lips
The world fading in and out goes black

The triggers fire
In a pillow muffle my cries
Pulling a blanket over swollen eyes
Thinking like a child I could hide
From the face that haunts every minute of my life
As the beating plays in slow motion
Over and over again  
I am powerless to stop it

The triggers fire
My situation turns dire
I fight for my breath
As rough hands close around my neck
The memories of red pain dripping
Ring through my mind
Like the bells for the dead
When the triggers fire

The triggers in my poem represent sounds, sights or thought that cause me to remember certain events in my life I try to forget but it seems easier sometimes to write them out  and even then I do not know if they will truly ever disappear  



This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby

You can hear them scream at night,
the men, locked in,
over at the hate factory.

It's a kind of purgatory.
A winter time
for the mind.

No light gets in.
No love either.
But you can see it all below
through the bars
on the window.

Racing down the hall to a code response
I arrived breathless at the scene
grabbed an AMBU bag
it was like something out of a dream:
Surreal yet stark reality
we all had parts to play
we did everything we could
but the patient slipped away.
We zapped, compressed the chest
I gave the oxygen real fast
the patient didn't change
we knew he wouldn't last.
But we we did everything we could
but alas, it wasn't enough
sometime life is way unfair
sometimes life's just rough.
So it was today
so it may be tomorrow
but we're committed to saving lives
as well as enduring sorrow.

is not a disability to me
be it PTSD
or Bi Polar
or Anxiety Depression
or just riding Solo

it's not a disability to me
it may play havoc
with my everyday life but
it's not an impediment
or an indication
that you lack ability
to deal with living strife

it's not a disability to me
it's more a heightened empathy
a conscious awareness
not a disease (some cases can be)
but not a disability to me

it just means your fortitude
takes you to the next level
when the ground falls
beneath your feet
you don't lay down to grovel
you find ways to make
a near endless day
better than it was yesterday
you praise all tomorrows
because you made it today

your mental disabilty
has never been a disability
to me
*in any way