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Showing results for tags 'this is not a fun poem'.



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  1. ive been jolted awake enough shoved out of sleep, aftershocks the split-second startled impact back on the mattress to stare blind-eyed at the ceiling like a mammal shutting down from too much adrenalin rabbits close their eyes as they die i never have the god damn common sense to i always stare straight at the trigger finger flinching at the kickback, the warm red stain soaking my shirt, waistband and draining into my shoes it's not always so quick as being shoved off a cliff or the silenced whisper of a gun i have woken up rattled to the marrow because my mind has cracks and edges and memories might have fallen through my subconscious is that even possible? is the human brain capable of erecting walls so impervious that i could forget-- could forget-- it's too impossible to put words to. instead i more easily brush off nightmares wherein again at gunpoint im used, his thumb shoving into my mouth this is easier because this i can remember though the firearm was absent in the waking world i should have bitten down. should have saved myself is the human brain capable of really forgetting? rather: is it capable of fabricating? through dreams, of course but nightmares so vivid i couldn't forget-- consider touch (back against his chest) sight (blank ceiling) taste (bitter fear, one of his hands over my mouth) sound (his breath in my ear) smell (this, blank) how do i end this poem? closure? don't give me 'im sorry's and 'im here if you need to talk' if you touch me i'll flinch.
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