#horrors
#(an exposé on the horrors of sand-tray therapy)
Before the sand is touched,
the world tilts..
Something buried
begins to wake..
a hum rising from the marrow,
a corridor forming
from forgotten terror.
At its end,
the sand waits..
still, ominous,
holding an entire underworld.
A child’s world
sealed in darkness
slowly unseals itself.
The buried horrors shift--
not content
to remain unseen.
And with them rises
the oldest dread:
the fear of being alone
in the deep.
The fear that God
cannot enter this night.
And the equal terror
that He can..
that His coming would
undo the self..
the child built to survive.
*What happens
if Love descends
into the place
where even breath
learned to hide?*
Here..
the lost childhood waits:
years unlived,
tears uncried,
a small form folded
into disappearance,
a ghost made
to keep itself alive.
And yet..
an ember remains.
The incorruptible.
The one spark
violence could not claim.
Light widens.
Shapes rise in the sand..
not memories,
but the moments themselves:
the terror,
the breaking,
the room where time stopped.
And around them,
the second casualties..
the ones swallowed
in the blast radius
of the ungrieved wound.
The crescendo begins.
Shadows gather..
walls breathe.
The buried rise
grain by grain,
pulse by pulse..
not to reclaim,
but to release.
Not to reopen the wound..
but to lift the child
from the cathedral of sand
into the first impossible light.
#
Nov 28, 2025
Nov 28, 2025 at 10:48 AM UTC
Life is a very long and interesting movie
Life is a brief biography
Life is not an encyclopedia
But a book of several chapters
Life is a garden of flowers
Do not blame Wikipedia
For the bad, fake or false stories
People love tragic or faulty memories
Please forgive the **** Media
The writers, the reporters, the journalists
Who have failed to expose the racists
The rapists, the killers, and the liars
Life is full of surprises and nightmares
Life is made of many sporadic dreams
Bring the lanterns, bring the beams
Our world is sinking in a dark hole
It's obvious that every day is not Super bowl
Life behaves like a roller-coaster
Wear the belt, danger is around the corner
Life is made of ups and downs
Horrors, chaos, innuendoes, stories
Souvenirs, fun and bad memories
Do your job, and ignore the clowns
Life is awesome, awkward and unpredictable
Life is strange, weird, different and delectable
Life is indeed a malayalam movie
Life is a short biography.
Copyright© March,2018, Hébert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
Oct 18, 2025
Oct 18, 2025 at 9:56 PM UTC
everything’s complicated
everything’s a struggle
have you noticed?
it’s a psychological horror
is this feeling the ‘adult disillusionment’ I keep hearing about?
I mean, things work, if you sit on them like an egg—
if your mother things along and helicopter a result.
I mean, what do people do who don't have
my resources and sunny disposition?
I get America’s increasing paranoia but I think that it's *** backwards. Even if someone's were out to ‘get’ you, no one actually cares about doing their job anymore. There's just so little competence around, that the dysfunction feels intentional. And because you need something and you’re helpless, you can't help but feel targeted.
But I think I figured it out, so let me elucidate—they aren't giving YOU bad service, it isn't personal—everyone is getting bad service, two pieces of chicken in the box when you ordered three, five day delivery when you’re clearly paying for two, failure’s become routine—endemic.
My go-to phrase has become, “What’ll it cost?” (the answer, usually: twice as much) “Make it so,” I say, swiping something with my Apple Watch, and suddenly, everything works!
.
.
A song for this:
decide to be happy by MisterWives
Mar 29, 2025
Mar 29, 2025 at 9:49 PM UTC
One more before I go.
Into the wilderness of parts and dreams. A happy send off in the cool morning.
I will be back in a new form perhaps, a more rounded crown of a tree, after years of pruning.
A "wild and precious life" with untold horrors, spoken dreams, and wandering caravans of thought.
In yellow abodes loving kindness which is yours. Maybe it will seep in like a root gives to it's leaves. Traveling through twisted currents. It's fragile rose petals. Short lived. But remembered.
Sep 12, 2023
Sep 12, 2023 at 11:49 AM UTC
My torch light glints off the shiny orange gem, that lies next to my friend Jim,
The poor ******* picked it up before he could flea, and now I feel it pull towards me,
The radiating heat is so soft and sweet I can feel my feet shuffling towards ultimate defeat.
As I reach down to pluck it up, the first feel of it is such a rush.
The power of it is to great, I'm going to faint my soul is no longer mine to hold and cherish it resides within the gem, now I'm with my true friend Jim.
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 3:49 AM UTC
I am saddened by
What my precious
Had to go through
All those years ago
In opposing
Sides of the attacks
He was hurt by someone
Whom supposed to protect him
And I triggered by the idiots
Who caused the attacks
أنا حزين
ما غالي
كان لا بد من المرور
كل تلك السنوات الماضية
في المعارضة
جوانب الهجمات
لقد أصيب من قبل شخص ما
من المفترض أن يحميه
وأثارني الحمقى
من تسبب في الهجمات
Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 4:29 AM UTC
In kindergarten we learn the alphabet,
We color and make terrible art,
And that sharing is caring.
In 1st grade we learned bigger words,
With the worst thing we had to worry about,
Was yet a simple spelling quiz on Friday.
In 5th grade we learn numbers are confusing,
And learn about the planet we live on,
We find out why the moon goes away.
In 6th grade we learn about morals and sorrows,
As we're quickly taught the horrors of our history,
Of all of the pain, torture and lost of life we caused.
May 30, 2020
May 30, 2020 at 12:16 AM UTC
All the victims and their sin
Burning fire on my skin
Screaming children of today
Born from fear of yesterday
I was breastfed the pain of generations
Drank up their instincts to have suspicions
Past poisons my bloodstream keeps me in cages
I’m mentally struggling to escape all these places
Electric buzzing in the heads
Causing offsprings in distress
Piercing shrieking, heart attack
Tears of anger, slow, numb death
Deformed tranquilizer dart
Broken vocal chords, no art
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 7:02 AM UTC
You take the worst of you.
You take the worst and hide it away,
Deep in a dark building,
In its dark basement,
In the darkest room,
And lock it away.
Hidden and forgotten.
You hide it because you’re ashamed;
You hide it because you can’t erase it.
So it’s buried with all your flaws,
Mistakes,
Regrets,
Never to see the light.
Time convinces you this is who you are.
And you believe it so.
Then someone comes along
And sees what you want to become.
What you can become,
And the light they shine on you
Is the warmest your skin has ever felt.
You want them to know the real you,
Not the version common eyes feast on.
You clutch the key in your pocket,
Twirling it in your trembling hand,
Wanting to hand it to them,
Allow them to venture to the depths of your failures.
You want them to see it and exclaim
“I still accept you.”
The thought fades,
And you’re reminded of the storage
That haunts the basement of that lonely building.
You see the terrors tucked away
And imagine what this special person would think.
You are a hoarder of horrors,
Too afraid to let anyone see,
And too afraid to let go.
Feb 3, 2020
Feb 3, 2020 at 5:08 PM UTC
Every night has it's own horrors,
when I'm alone.
I overthink all the terrors,
that fight to ****
People leave eventually,
but not before fake advice,
which leaves their mouth flatly
while my mind fights to see the point.
"Suicide doesn't end the pain,
it passes it to someone else"
But what if there is no one
to pass the pain onto.
This is an ongoing battle,
between my heart and my mind.
Another word,
and my heart will win the fight.
I fight to be alone,
yet I can't stand my own presence.
Each time the sun rises,
my body magics another scar.
I am a flower,
amongst the rest.
Yet I am lost,
because I am grey against the rest.
I'm sorry I didn't speak,
because of the words that left your mouth,
and landed like arrows,
not allowing my heart to breathe.
Now every word that leaves
is measured.
Making sure there is no poison,
so another can breathe.
***
Her parents told her to be happy,
coz angels don't cry.
Angels can fly said,
and jumped.
May 11, 2020
May 11, 2020 at 9:24 PM UTC
Hello there, stranger.
Come for a little darkness, have you?
Trade me a cigarette,
and I'll dive into the depths of time
to conjure some horrors true,
Scars old and wounds anew
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 2:27 PM UTC
Deep within the spacial abyss that is my brain
There lies a little blue planet called “Paul”.
Hidden away from most of reality
This world is full of wondrous dreams.
Its drifting continents are full of sporting arenas,
Traditional pubs and inns
And swarms of gorgeous women.
Lofty mountains overlook sandy beaches
Fringed by sun kissed palms.
Endless vistas of hill and dale
Teeming with Life.
There is a Dark Side too:
I have my “Mordor” for sure
And my own Sauron.
Who doesn’t?
Lands full of man eating wasps
Fearful ghouls and witches
And torture chambers
Full of dental equipment.
Giant eyes
And Mirrors
Which take on a life
Of their own.
But let’s focus on the Brightness here:
The music and poetry
And even dance
And romance!
A place where we can “Get Around”
To Beach Boys harmonies,
Rock to Chuck Berry
And enjoy whatever delights Carlsberg can conjure up,
If not a pint of “Willy’s Beer”
From Cleethorpes.
Paul Butters
© PB 10\5\2018.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 12:39 PM UTC
the worms crawl into our brains
as we passively accept our reality
the worms crawl into our brains
as we lead our lives so mundanely
the dream for which we reach
proves that we're asleep
and as it molds itself into a nightmare
we realize, alas, too late
of the horrors we create
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
what is more gentle?
than this pillow of the light?
a life narrowing,
in a bright feather dance
that sweeps across the sea
or covers our faces in shadows.
where do you go when you leave me?
now I am nocturnal,
a bliss bandit,
cooing at stars
one thousand miles high.
shaking like a tea kettle,
I am the black *** black,
shaking,
shivering.
Swallowing pieces of your light,
in the back-room jungle where I sew,
tears to the bottoms of my eyes,
I know days,
hours,
one minute
where I gambled time
and stood behind you
with my fingers
on your shoulders
and my mouth on your neck.
What it takes to be apart,
split in half,
shucked from birth;
it takes every thing I
ever owned,
every note I ever sang,
each breath that I will make-
some thought I stand up on,
my knees quivering below me.
five kinds of drugs
just to see straight, to hold
my hands steady or
sleep at night.
your lavender flavor
is still in me.
youth inside me.
one.
two.
soaking in this forgotten city,
Earth's heroes drifting away.
I could never eat again, or
cast a spell, or touch the same.
while burning I may never
stand
on these same two feet again.
Or answer an echoing voice
From across the gloom
Where nearness emotes itself
And I freeze inside my own cacophony
Of brilliant moods and total confusion.
four years,
a photograph.
one voice,
softening into my skin,
that I may never forget.
that this beard is of
an old man, should I never
count again
blessings or songs.
I dive into the flame
and study this journey backwards.
so I should never forget,
everything so serious
as this
as youth and eves
Three drops of cuteness
Spilt against a human act of
Being.
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
Undercoverism, teenage soot inside of dry and crusty eyes. When the morning begs alarms to die, and she brings that familiar rain again. Some one that unknowns us, sheds a brutal light. Where the hole inside each child's head, may be disarmed across a deck of cards. In an anti-climactic exposition, where aces climb the sleeves, young Caucasian children find themselves in minorities.
Bubbling voodoo-hoodoo, soda water succumbing the Oro-Quincy spillway until the men have wept and every other woman gleans her brow. When we wake up in the poppy garden, when we've fallen asleep to one hundred cowardly clowns lifting themselves off the heap of a Volkswagen Rabbit. On Broadway heading to 14th Street, avoiding the sidewalk cracks via a jog through alphabet town. There are self-righteous no-ones, famous, auto-inflicted vicious inextricably ordinary and sub-par, barely scratching at their own averages, and hardly shaking words out of their id-sized corner offices at Avenue B & St. Marks.
By the shivering hands can tell, of which lowly smoking dactyls accentuate their currish farce, and amidst a stack of newsprint and cardboard, boxes and the bothersome, the most personal stranger no person should ever greet. Nor mahogany or oak manifold shall ever be select, and the hollowing sheath- Earth in her brilliant hues of green should forever keep unbeknownst to any selves heeding their milky skies' retreat.
The oder fresh, from digits bending, collapses on the archway round the bed. Its hardened crime, it fails in pretending, like a lust in a sand plume, an eight-shaped glass ornament, arenosely erupting in a drizzling circumstance. We call it time.
It is a noise that summer caught on to, a broken heel, running up ways and ways to concrete squares, like California was only just pretending.
Goodness knows. Godness never around us. Healing can't be done, no book or prose can satisfy her, inasmuch as she belonged, creeping up eyes leapt to their suspension. Nibs erode into the conchoidal zone, some pressure to the ilia fossa. Some work furnishes settlers to the hips, cool wool and linen make an aperture of threading. Dreaming when the moon begins to permeate a looming glow, in an arc during achronychal silvery mists, withering beneath this flume of fancy.
Some of the wet cuts a hole-mess into us. Wethered nymphs introduce the suffix of their succubus, is this the surreality the ethereal vapors make for our nexus. Beasts in a bold way, crimsony gore-dom, comes dominating greens to overgrow in this show.
Water soaks into the empty breath of words wrapping up tonight's syphon. Some hours of the past inside an alarm's sound torture. Hidden by inches, filling up the glass, every minute, every poppy, all the numbers seemed to help her.
Covers that fixe anew such random sleep, brings the devilish horror to pervert absent beeps. Until the dots begin to close on us, and in slumber we rotate the words to assemble an acute understanding of being sorry for sleep that will always continue to be out of reach.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 11:59 AM UTC
Sometimes I dream at night
I think
Of things I cannot see
Of things I cannot feel
When my voice has left me
And all I can do is
Watch
Observe the horrors
Reach
But my arms won't move
Cry
But no sound can be heard
And the tears don't form
Not till I wake up
Drenched
But for what reason?
Shaking
But what fear is there?
As I roam the halls
It plays through my head
Like a distant
Memory
That isn't real
And the lines become blurred
Between my reality and
Dreams
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC
when i was a little girl, i'd always dream of a happily ever after. i'd imagine myself as cinderella, with a perfect gown and shoes and hair, in a castle with a prince who loved me so dear.
it was cute, hoping that my fantasies would someday come true. but once upon a time, i grew up. i realized that there were no happily ever afters, and that life was just a constant battle with everyone around you. i thought about my gown, and how there'll always be a pull in the fabric somewhere; my shoes, how they'll eventually make my feet ache to an unbearable point; my hair, how its curls will fall when i dance; my castle, how its size will make me feel so lonely; and my prince, how he will inevitably leave me or hurt me or play me, or all of the above.
but you helped me see the light, my prince. you made me forget all the negativities of royalty. when i am with you, i am happy. and happiness is all i want, all i need. does that mean that all i need is you?
you made me forget that you were of royal blood, and i was not; that you never had to lift a finger, and i had to work night and day to simply survive; that you were loved and needed and sought after, and i was neglected and insignificant and never anyone's number one.
but what i thought to be amnesia for the better, wasn't, and like everything else, gave me a false sense of hope that life was beautiful. i pity noble and peasant girls when they think royalty is complete and utter bliss, for they are greatly misinformed. it is all a show, which, no matter how sadistic, deserves a standing ovation.
and sometimes i wish i were little me again, free of sadness and pain; clueless of the horrors of this world. but reality checks in and reminds me that there's no such thing as a rewind or a replay, and time will not stop or slow down or repeat itself. not for me at least.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
Know that I am sorrow please take my hand
I'll lead you to constant pain in new land
But unlike happiness I'll never leave you
I won't make you sit in the churches hard pew
But at times I'll make you drop to your knees
Under the weeping willow trees
I let the limbs hide your tear stained face
I'll show you the horrors,for you I'll make my case
For I have no mercy for you at all
I'll trip you and laugh as you fall
I'll take all your fears and make them come true
You'll never be happy again, that will never do
I am sorrow and I'll never leave you
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
Turned on the television
for the first time in many a day
had to shut it off poste haste
as everything they had to say
was full of venom and hate
and horrors that I cannot understand
sometimes I wish I would have been born
in a far away distant land.
Perhaps I came into this realm
at the most inopportune time--
should have come along years long ago
way back before machine guns were involved in crime--
should have been here
during the horse and buggy days
working on a ranch somewhere
sowing seeds and baling hay...
I have to fight the urge each morning
to leave and run far far away
to run into the woods and find a tree
where I can hole up and stay
and forget the horrors and hatred all around
that seems to be
this lifetime's favorite and unending sound...
Turned on the television
for the first time in many a day
had to shut it off poste haste
as everything they had to say
was full of venom and hate
and horrors that I cannot understand
sometimes I wish I would have been born
in a far away distant land.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 12:35 AM UTC
The darker side of my mind is where
Abstractions of fragmented poetry breeds;
A baby lies dead in a Hong Kong gutter,
And my lines fall into place.
Broken hearts sing lullabies to me,
Two savage beatings spare me a verse,
New Orleans lends me four at low interest,
And throws in a haiku for free.
The old veteran quotes me three lines
And gets buried with the last.
The rhyme festers with his body;
Both soldier
and verse
are
free
again.
I can't explain the beauty I see
In the dying faces of the abandoned ones,
Nor tell you why, if the bomb were dropped tomorrow
I should weep in both anguish and delight.
I can only tell you, should it all end,
Should all modern horrors dissapear,
The future will weep for the joys of the present
And smiles will dissapear forever
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
A night pure of solace and grace
Scattered smokes from cigarettes and ****
Love that has been rekindled
Casted spells of forever
The nightmares from the past has been erased
Hoping for a dazzling tomorrow
Though we know it still stings a little
Forgiveness is the only cure from the horror
And tonight as we sit across the wooden bar table
Savouring every moment the present has to offer
With your hand on my chest and my heart on your lips
I will kiss all the pain away, for now until the dawn’s abyss
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
I miss my childhood
When everything was so much easier
I wasn't scared to fall in love
I wasn't even scared to fall out of the tree
I fell of the fence enough times it felt normal
Normal to fall
But back then
I never got hurt from falling
Back then the hardest decision was what flavor ice cream i wanted at the bus depot with my dad
The worst thing that happened was my ice cream falling off the cone onto the floor
I miss the simplicity of things
The way I could play outside for hours and not get bored
When I used to play around on the street with my best friend riding our bikes til the street lamps came on and we knew to get our ***** home
I miss the old days
When life was simple
And I was oblivious to the horrors of this world
The bad things that actually happen
That there's more monsters than the imaginary ones under my bed
That I will end up falling but this time I'll probably get hurt
It wont be falling off the fence it will be falling in love
It won't be losing an ice cream
It will be losing a friend
A loved one
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC