Title-out of place- by meself.   A boor I am to peasantry's sultry disgrace, cargo to be tended, I subsist unamended, how childish I play these games. Liquer buds, saltine love crumbles beneathe day room lock-outs! Eyes stare ablazed, the hued sunset repeadily turns masterpiece of horrid honeymoons idealistic and realistic to discussions seeming strange. Partial bodies secrete the grassed out hills, morning calling awaits.,,,,,

An ominous red door stands before me not knowing what it holds for me, is the red for the passion of love or red for the sacrifice of it, to open it terrifies me to the core but to not means death to my soul. It pulses before me begging me to touch it to open it, for it to give me what I long for.......

No one knows the horrible thoughts within my head,
I grow tired of faking normal.
I look into the mirror and hate who is staring back.

The daymares are worse than the nightmares because they come without warning.
It is hard to fake normal when the daymares come and tears stream and the shaking begins.
I run for a place to close a door and lock it.
Lock out the world and grab my hair and pull and pull so hard that I try to pull the scenes out of my head.

I see them over and over every day. I hear the sounds. I lose my breath when the triggers come.
I tell my doctor that I am tired of faking normal.
I ask for medicine that will make me feel numb.

He asks me, "When was the last time you were happy?"
I pause, I think. I don't  remember.
My family doesn't understand so I have to fake normal.
I tell him I don't know how much longer I can hold on. Do something.
He says. I want you to seek counseling.
NO. It doesn't work.
Please.
NO. Just give me something so I won't think anymore.

I know that this PTSD is winning. Faking normal is coming to an end.
My doctor looks at me for the first time with the saddest eyes and says, "I'm worried about you."
I think to myself, You should be.

There’s a rhythm to that song. I think I know it.

The words, I’m not so sure.

But the rhythm, that’s what counts right? That’s where the feeling is, right?

I wasn’t expecting this. I didn’t have the words.

Had no idea it was coming. Had no idea what to say.

But I knew how I felt. That’s what counts right?

Sometimes I have rhythm, sometimes I’m in time.

But I wonder, were you stepping on the same foot?

Or the opposite one? The right one?

And if I was dancing alone, was I dancing at all? Or just bumbling around like a recently evolved monkey.

Dance with me now. I write, you left

naked
in the heat and sweat
we champion the morning