Man from the couch
Looking for me
Shrinking my presence
Wishing I could flee

No place to hide
Hearing his footsteps
Looking for pleasure
In the form of ***

There’s a horrible monster
Outside my door
Always circling
Coming back for more

A haunting game
Of procrastination
Every slight noise probes
My ears with vibration

Peeking out the
Side of my eye
As the doorknob turns slowly
Inching open - I die

His mouth opens wider
Releasing shadows of fear
Dripping his venom
Whispers I barely hear

My littlest brother asleep
On the top bunk.
This man has no shame
As he shows me his junk.

I inquire after my mother
He's roaming towards me.
He murmurs his shhh!
"We can not wake her."

My head is spinning
As he denies my plea
He's just come to expect
He can steal this from me

The smell of burnt plastic
Wanders around him
I'm feeling cryptic
As my light starts to dim

He lies heavy on top
Of my tiny frame
It's become automatic
Like writing my name

Clumps in my throat
Prevent me from gulping
I can’t seem to inhale
His body hammering

I close my eyes so I can sail
Back to my unconscious
Disconnecting this moment
In my black empty space

© Jl 2016
© Pixievic 2016

They say when you go through trauma
It either kills you
Or you forget it.
They don't tell you what to do
when the options blend.
There's no hotline to call
when the memories you've buried
claw their way back up your throat
like the pills that didn't work.
I am a causality of a war I never fought in.

I cut my hair short so I can wash it in the sink,
For the days when my shower turns into a tardis I cannot control,
A time machine with only one date.
I have grown sick of not finding refuge in this time and place.
When I shave my head,
I think of how impossible it is to pull a buzzcut.

I write the date on every piece of paper,
But I don't really live here.
The present is just a hideout from the past,
The future a threat of going back.
I am on the run.
A fugitive of broken memories and stolen hope.

I lock each door in my house
five times
before telling my mom goodnight.
I check underneath my bed,
Move the clothes in my closet
until I'm sure I can see every part of the back wall,
and leave its door open.
I bend my eyes into every corner and hollow spot.
I will not go to sleep.
I will dream myself awake.
I wake up in my bathtub time machine,
Raise my face through the surface of the red water,
My long hair wrapping itself around my throat like promises from a time when I still felt alive.
I will probably scream,
And find myself back in my bed.
My family won't hear a thing.