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Rowan S Jan 2019
Obsessively focused on black ink swimming from my pen
Keep me floating in this storm
When writing stops, this craft sinks into the frothing waves
Poseiden's domain, beckoning.
Compelled to cling, to coping that only works temporarily
For this well now springs forward only from time spent held back
Dammed up, concrete walls held strong, but defective
This flood
This Flood
THIS FLOOD
I flee, not fight, furtive failings of final flips into the film
Thin membrane, now breached and spilling
Oh god why can't I stop this?
Oh god why can't YOU stop this?
I am done.
Despite dealing with doom, with despair
How strong the maelstrom I now succumb to
I started writing a bunch of stuff about the background of this poem, so heres the gist: it is about EMDR (go look it up), stuffed emotions, PTSD, and I was written on the verge of a panic attack, which escalated into a full blown attack upon completion of this poem.
julianna Aug 2018
Another dream as part of the treatment
In all reality, it feels like a torture
If they only knew what the beeps brought on...
The left-right, dream-inducing,
cadence,
Tells my brain what to process;
And it’s always you.
If it hurts that much, is it healing?
Or bleeding out and re-peeling?
It’s the second dream since the therapy
On the second day since the therapy.
And oh,
It felt better the first time.
The one where he thought I was weird,
Because it’s more realistic.
But in the one about you,
I got everything I’d ever wanted
Which hurts
And aches
And hollows one out.
It leaves nerves fried
And teary eyes
And palpating hearts.
Because there’s no room to grow,
No room left to dream.
It’s given me an eye to see what we could have been
And feel how good it would’ve been.
And now I know and long for those  feelings.
And I think I always will,
Because I’ll never forget what I’ve dreamed.
I’m a broken, hollow body. These dream are tiring, winding torture. I don’t think I will ever get over him, it’s a deeper ache than you can expect someone to have for someone so non-essential in their life. But here we are.

The title is EMDR in Braille, or atleast it’s supposed to be.

— The End —