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The Dybbuk Oct 9
Pavlov got something wrong,
because classical conditioning,
is for the classically trained.
I, meanwhile, live halfway between the operant
and the mountain,
and an iron cast bell.
What he didn't realize is that the dogs
cared more to sink their teeth,
into old Ivan
and buy their freedom for a day.
voodoo Oct 8
I'm here once more, but then again when was I not?

as if my eyes have ever shifted from my reflection. I'm sick of it.

I don't know how long I've been here; this dimly lit trap gives away no time.

all else melts around me, pools into ripples of my distorted reality.

I sit and I watch my face. I long for the familiarity of yesteryears that I cannot trace.

my skin yawns open, wills to consume itself - porous, velutinous, and brittle.

this is who I am, this is what I see:

tyrian purple flesh decomposing, falling inside my bones that split and splinter;

my mind climbing out of my head, fugitive from the skull's prison;

breaths, ribbons of grotesque, not deep enough to last and not shallow enough to be numbered.

everything without is human (decaying though it is), and everything within is dissimulation.

this molten, fragmented un-being doesn't escape my sight. these eyes have cried out for respite -

and yet they exist, the odd and sole constant in the mirror before them -

wistful for oblivion and feasting on fear. what's gone has kept me alive for longer than it appears.

this body doesn't even feel real. my fingertips burn at every touch.

what more shrapnel does this heart desire until it plays out its final beat?
☆This an older poem, I decided to post.☆
Oh, & to my lovely readers,
Just remember the following:
—No one can make you concede defeat.
—You are whole without someone else,
         You are complete.
Unabridged by all rationale,
A masterpiece, assembled by fates convened. }♡{

When the pressure
of the air
around your body
feels like torture,
like suffocating.
Just remember,
when you think it's over,
that's when to fight - or you'll keep losing what's left quicker, & quicker.
Just dismember these words,
'Cause for better or for worse,
You can't leave yourself deserted.
~
When one does not know
the gazing stranger
in the mirror.
Frozen, head to toe,
colder than ice,
Deep within my mind, in an ethereal zone.
Behind closed eyes,
Feeling like a backseat driver,
Drunk, & in my own car - the basement of existence.
Flooded lungs,
Feet like phantom weights,  
The quiet swallows us.

The quiet disguise, oh my God, who do I trust,
When the man staring back,
will never know love.
I will never know love. ~
What could I miss, when I must miss what's considered life's most?

From another world,
or any mirrored surface,
The sinking sight of disfigured man & truth, swirl.
Against this apparition
frightened, staring
Wanting so much to run but I am always lured

Diminished for a while,
I began to look in the mirror with a smile.

Dreadfully,
the occasional feeling returns to me,
Like a Phoenix ruse, & blazing rise.
It is not unceasing,
But when I do feel it, all I can think of is it's absolute potency.
Dysmorphia takes leave - a trick,
& Like a calculated predator,
Unmercifully, it ensues.
Gotta get it's grip off my throat. God, let me go.
I will never know love. ~
& The smile hits me like a piledriver through soil,
I can imagine it unweaving soul.
I will never know love. ~
Oh the room has spun, and tables run,
Left with the emptiness of you.
Looked into the mirror & punched until it was done -
Spent midnight looking through a filter.
A reflection in blood.

I will never know love. ~

Emotionally consumed,
I'm too far gone, can't hold on, uncontrolled in the doom,
At least this time I feel something at all.
I will never know  my  love. ~


By: Ashton Conor Amstutz



#BodyDysmorphia
Derrick Jones Sep 29
Thinking I see clearly
Comes at a price
I pay it dearly
Spraying windex on glass barriers
Trapped by this transparency
I run wildly through a labyrinth
A prison of my own creation
Crimson, I move with desperation
The direct path overlooked

You are complex and unpredictable
Yet I try to predict you anyway
I put a vision of you inside my maze
I see your actions through an egoic haze
I analyze and interpret in a naive craze
And as I forecast the coming phase
I finally see this labyrinth I must raze

Wisdom is knowing how much you cannot know
Freedom is acting with that knowledge
Truth is the value that sets you free
The only path toward reality

Go shatter the glass
Veer off the path that you created
That you never knew you hated
The false entrapments in your way
So you can finally seize the day

I will not put you in a prison
I will correct this twisted prism
Come join me in this mission
Let’s create a new shared vision
For more poetry and essays, follow my blog on Medium at https://medium.com/words-ideas-thoughts
Thanks for reading!
exst Sep 16
Be careful
That care

Does not
Become Control

Kindness
Coercion

Violence
Masquerading
as love
Saloni mann Sep 4
My therapist once told me that-" You are lucky, because you are aware of your problems. You know where you stand and what is troubling you. You also have the ability to explain what Haunted you last night and that is difficult. You also seem aware about what you want out of your life. Your idea of an end result maybe blurred but you are aware of it. "
I sometimes wonder that Most people do not even know what is killing them constantly but they are still living their life. Most people are unaware of their thoughts and what these thoughts mean to them . It takes them their whole life to realise that this is a problem they need to get rid of. It takes them their whole life to understand that this is creating an unhealthy pattern and they are falling prey to it with each passing day.

She also explained that-" The biggest problem you face is walking and acting on the path in between. You mess up in between and lose a sense of the beginning as well as the end. You mess up and panic and lose yourself."
It's so weird that we know that we will have to walk down a road to reach somewhere but our visions are so fainted and blurred that the answers to basic questions are far fetched.
We are often surrounded by several Questions like;
which road to walk upon?
What direction to choose on the road?
Whether to follow the busy road or the road less taken?
What is my destination?
Do I even want to walk right now or just relax and put myself back together?
Do I really want to walk upon this road?
Am I choosing a life I always wanted to live?
Am I ready to accept all the hardships that are coming  my way?
Would I be content and satisfied after giving my all to something?
It's okay to not know the answer of each and every question that comes your way, it's okay to not be able to choose a direction for yourself and decide whether you will be content with it or not.
But it is always important to come in contact with your inner conscience and make yourself aware about you.
It is important to understand your problems and help yourself understand that you are required to eliminate them because they may **** you. Self acceptance is difficult but it is the best gift you give yourself.
exst Sep 4
We
All wear
Different faces
A persona
Which sometimes
masks
And other times
Paradoxically
Reveals

#micropoetry
The Dybbuk Aug 21
"Be All You Can Be," says the television.
"1800-USA-ARMY."
I almost chose it, the life the TV tells me.
I almost went away,
To be a brother-in-arms.
Now, I'm thinking about being a brother-in-a-frat-house,
it hardly compares, but here I am searching
So I can be happy.
An 8 year plan for self-actualization.
Maslow would laugh; at the Army ad, at me, and at everyone who follows a path they didn't carve into rock with a spoon.
So many can never find the words, the feelings,
because if they speak, what they know
It becomes a solidified highlight reel,
and not just a spiel, a tale told in the confines of safety to a person with a ticket that transforms them into the audience.

They devour the reel of desperation and despair,
The hurt child deep inside that starts through the mind, and leaks through the pours of your adult body, it paralyses you with fear, ruins your relationships, destroys the peaceful nights and waking moments.

It slaps you with a ghost hand and phantom pain, reaching from the past to remind you in the present that it still lingers,
they are still there  and they always will be, that it is their job to inflict pain.

Just one moment, one semblance of safety, is when the person with the ticket shows up to your screening, reaches for that ghost hand, and instead of twisting and pushing it away like you always beg, plead and scream to do
they grab the hand, hold it and say:

"This trauma is real, not a show, not a highlight reel, I will guide your scenes, your desperate cries and pleas, and I will help your child heal"
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