Put ice on your wrists,
Or wherever the scars usually appear,
And hold it for five to ten minutes,
The urge should disappear,
Along with the sensation in your veins
The signals to you
That you're about to black out.

If you don't have ice,
Apply pressure with your hands.
Bonus points if they're cold.

Don't allow yourself to become too aware
Of the blood in your veins.

Breathing exercises help too,
And while you're at it try grounding yourself.

Count how many things you can see up to five.
Then count four things you can hear.
Three you can touch,
Two you can smell,
And one you can taste.

Make a list of what calms you,
Make a list of what gives you bliss,
See how many things go between each.

Talk  yourself down,
Remind yourself you can't do this.
Remind yourself you have to remember.

Don't focus on the trigger.
Forget it,
Quickly.

Distract yourself.
Something you can hear-- Music.
Something you can taste-- Gum.
Something you can feel-- Your lion.
Something you can smell-- His sweatshirt.
But what do you focus on?

You can't seem to find a fixed point to keep your eyes on,
And the threat of a black out is receding,
But why did it start?

You can't even remember what set you off.

Your hands are soaked.
The ice cubes melted on your wrists.

I stared out the window
My brain, completely disengaged
No thoughts, no emotions
But a war was being waged

I could not move or even think
Stood lifeless, as I gazed
But, inside my brain
This awful darkness blazed

Outside the window, light
It seemed so warm and pure
Still, inside my head
A madness did me lure

I could not raise my voice
Could not, say a word
That evil’s lock on me
Seemed to be assured

But then an angel’s voice
So sweetly to me said
Come with me my dear
And let us go to bed
BOEMS BY JA 583      
FOR MY WIFE

Have you ever been madly in love?

The old man broke my reverie.

On the long faded green bench white with bird droppings
he was peering at me through his silver grey beard
looking oddly out of place in that college squire park
where only the dreamers at the prime of youth
would sit between classes to exchange love notes
and steal a kiss when the passion couldn't be reined in.

Have you ever been madly in love? he repeated,
and then as if growing impatient by my silence
mumbled, pausing between words,
like they stung him like thorns
it extracts a price been paying all my life
living with a void no other woman could fill
a commitment that breeds only pain
yet makes me insanely boastful
of being madly in love.

It was recess hour and the benches were being filled up.

How many, I wondered, would still hold hands
when the classes are over.

All this noise in the world
And no one is listening
No one is noticing all the wrong
All the ugly words to the song
Children sitting gathered at tables
Laughing as they should
Laughing while they can
Life fast at their heels
Horror awaiting to replace their innocent
   days
And whose daughter will go first
Whose little girl will lose her will
      To smile
       To trust
        To love
Whose precious ray of sunshine
  Will be dragged
     To
        Dark alleys
         Dark couches
           Dark beds
Whose little flower will be
         Stomped on
         And crushed
         And dismembered
      And left living a life
      Constantly wishing for death
And who would do such a thing
   To such a sweet little smile
  Will it be by
    Monster or cousin
    Or uncle or father
    Or neighbor or stranger
    Or husband or friend
And whose little boy will lose his way
   Lose his way from patience
   And kindness and love
   And respect
Whose little boy will grow into brother
  Of brother of father of wealth
    And of name
Whose little boy will be taught by
  ignorance and ***** that he must be like
  the father of his brother of his brother
  of name and of wealth
Whose little son will grow into the monster
    of the illusion of being a man
Means taking whatever he wants
   whenever he can
Whose little monster will be left to wander
  and stray
    So far far away
     From the days of being
      A monster was only
        pretending and play
I sit and I sip coffee of sugar and cream
  And I wish and I pray that this was all
   A bad dream
But I cannot refuse or deny it
All this horrible horrible noise
Among the children laughing
With naive painted grins
I shudder inside of thoughts of their
                                       innocence gone
I tremble to know of futures of
                                        terrible wrongs
Whose will grow into murders of racism
  and hate
Whose will find themselves victims of ****
Whose will find themselves innocent
  locked behind bars awaiting death row
Who will turn into monster and beast
Who will turn into hero and friend
Whose little boy
Whose little girl
Will brave the road and pave the way
  To a future of endless
               Innocent days
It cannot be a day too soon
Let us hope it is not a day
                  Too late...