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Poems and short stories

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Working On It

I haven't posted anything new in a little while, because I am trying to write something NEW. The forms of mental guidance, programming, I don't know what to call it, that my family used on me made me believe that I was not allowed to do anything well. I used to be able to write easily, but now when I pick up a pen, or sit down to a new document, my mind tries to rebel.

I'm working on getting past that "oh my God I'm not allowed to do this anymore because I'm good at it" block, and put down some new poetry or prose.

I'm struggling with it, this wall looks a lot bigger than I am. I don't intend to give up.




Why Bother Counting

Anger transparent-

veils loosely as the noose

around the symptoms of imbalance

that plague my fading youth.

My hands, callused with pointless work,

my mind blurred with blind pain.

Sorrows born from the pain of others,

feed the flickering flames of my now listing spirit.

If all could be beautiful,

or all could be lost,

why then do I insist

on counting every cost?


This is a short character sketch I did few months ago when I was feeling very triggered. It unfortunately paints a pretty accurate picture of my time as a teenager. The character's name is Amalya, and she has developed into someone that seems quite a bit like myself. So here goes a little personal vulnerability in prose.

She woke in a panic during the night. Adrenaline pulled her violently to her upright even

as her eyes were opening. Darkness met her gaze as she stood poised on the balls

of her feet, her breath coming in short raspy gasps as she swiveled her head,

scanning the familiar confines of her room for the cause of her terror. The

room was silent. Nothing disturbed the air around her. The only threat to the night’s

serenity was the pounding of her heart in her ears.

She relaxed, dropping her alert stance until she stood with her feet flat on the

floor. With a conscious effort she forced her breathing to slow, methodically

counting off her exhalations until her breaths came at a normal, steady rate.

She rolled her shoulders forward, then backward to loosen muscles that had tensed,

and then took one more glance around. Smooth darkness broken only by the darker

shapes of her possessions strewn with precise carelessness about the space was

all she could discern as her eyes acclimated to what little light came through

the blinds from the street.

Through the rest of the house the night continued without interruption, but Amalya knew

she would not return to sleep until the sun rose, so with practiced steps she

made her way across the room; dodging effortlessly the objects in her path,

until she came to her desk. Easing herself down onto the chair silently, she

switched on the tiny lamp that was designed to illuminate only the small

writing space before her. She reached into the cabinet and pulled down the old

beat up notebook that still wore the label of algebra on it from high school

The yellowed pages held information much more important to Amalya then those

equations and solutions ever had all those years ago. Now the entire center

section held her log book, a record of the nights she couldn’t sleep, or as

tonight, had been torn from sleep by some nameless, faceless fear. Also noted

in the entries were details of the preceding day, what she had worn, eaten,

done, seen, or felt; as well as a thorough analysis of her feelings at the time

of wakefulness. Amayla was seeking a pattern, a clue to the terror filled

paranoia that had plagued her since early childhood, and in keeping with that

goal she picked up her favorite pen and thought back over the day before for a

full five minutes, then finally, with a practiced detachment, she began to



Uneasy Dreamer

Shadows thicken, darken deep-

Writhing, twisting, turning, burning.

Striving deeper inside my mind,

my tired soul responds in kind.

Shadows thicken, darken deep-

phantom shapes, I do retreat.

They follow, flowing past my grasp,

like water from a broken glass.

Things which might have been

are lost inside my mind.

Those chances gone for all of time.

Shadows thicken, darken deep-

torturing my spirit.

I lash out, to no avail

I see now that I shall fail.

Shadows thicken, darken deep-

Phantom shadows I entreat

to brave the darkened heartless deep.

That's born to us with restless sleep.


I hate that chat is down. I've been struggling with some new revelations, and some new concepts. Like for one, I am doing fine. Yeah my wife's car was repossessed. Yes it looks like a bankruptcy is my best option at the moment. Does this hurt my pride, oh yeah. Does it hurt me? Not really. I'm still working, paying the rent, we have electricity and insurance and strength, both in each other and in ourselves. If I were to die today I would know that I had not broken God's laws, only disappointed myself a few times.

I'm coming to peace with myself, and my place in this world. I don't like it, where I am, so I'm looking at a few concessions today to make tomorrow possible. I don't want to continue in this same cycle with the same intensity. Traveling in small circles at high rates of speed is only going to succeed in my getting nowhere new, and making me dizzy enough to not be able to tell the difference.

This is me admitting that I have been doing it wrong all these years, realizing that I have been so busy basing my worth on the judgements of others that I have short sold myself for as far back as I can remember. Whether I entered this pattern willingly, or was pushed into it by those that programmed me to do for them with disregard for self, is beside the point. It is time for me to face my dependence on the comfort in this consistency, and branch out to see what is really out there.

This is me. This is my self, my soul, my warrior spirit waking.

This is me. This is my today, the culmination of MY yesterdays.

This is me. Twisting and turning and transforming into Tomorrow.

This is me. This is far too daring to be them.

This is me. With intent, and clarity of thought, Me.

This is me. There is no fear here, no cause to run, no thing to lose.

This is me. I can not be taken, I can not be lost, I can not be stolen.

This is me. I am as strong as I need to be.

This is me. I am strong because I love.

This is me. I am love, of self and of others.

This is me. Have you met me?


This week was a bad, the worst one I have had since the memories started to return. I survived it with few new scars, but only because AS was here, I made a post about my father and his blog, and what he published about me. A full page of fictional material created to sublimate my life into something more comfortable for him I guess. Either way, it hurt more that he refused to validate my existence, my story, my trauma, and turned it into something that vilified me and made HIM the victim. I had such an outpouring of love and support from my brothers and sisters here on AS that I was able to turn the blow to my already wounded psyche, and today I am in such a better and stronger place for it. Hugs to everyone on the house!


Friday I had my first discernable panic attack. We were on the freeway, luckily I wasn't the one driving when it happened. It was raining a little bit, nothing out of the ordinary for Washington, and traffic was a little thick but not too bad. Out of no where I became convinced we were about to crash into another vehicle. We weren't even close to the other cars on the road, but that didn't seem to make a difference. We were going to hit them, and I couldn't breath right. I started to sweat, and my heart started to pound, and my mind went fuzzy, and my vision started to blur around the edges. For the rest of the afternoon, when we were in the car I was absolutely certain we were going to crash into something, another car, an overpass post, a curb, a tree it didn't matter, if I could see it, we were going to smash into it. The feeling lasted long after I had gotten home, ready for work, and had in fact driven myself to work... sweaty palmed and hyper alert. It was the most concrete evidence I have to date that I am ultimately vulnerable to these memories of "ancient" history, at least emotionally.

Like I said, a very bad week. But after my wife came to me, woke me up, angry and upset having just read an entry on my fathers public blog condemning me as a sl*t and a w**re, and a manipulator, and a monster, I woke up feeling ashamed, angry, weak, pathetic, loathsome, and dirty. As soon as my wife left for work, I went into the kitchen and picked up a bottle of rum. I looked at it for a very long minute... then put it back in the fridge. I am not that person any more, I will never conquer my demons if I am not 100% in control of myself. I would rather be a slave to my demons, I didn't create them.

Acknowledging what happened to me, and joining the After Silence site, has by far been the hardest and most rewarding thing that I have done in recent history, and I hope that I can contribute as much to the others here as they have already contributed to me. Thank you for validating my existence as a viable human being, giving me strength, understanding, and hope. God Bless us, every one.


Tempest, Teapot, Both?

This is a short I wrote while having a very rough time of it. They had put me on the overnight shift at work, and the lack of human contact followed by the nervousness when there was a customer, put my little heart and mind through the ringer. This is the best description of the meloncholy madness I have ever been able to put into words.

That sick feeling is starting in my gut again. The greasy, oozy discontent that opens the floodgates of self-doubt, contempt, and loathing. My attempts to halt the backslide into the raging torrent of emotional flagellation and subsequent despair will inevitably prove too weak and powerless to stop the snowball effect of self deprecation. All the would be Jedi mind tricks pounded unceremoniously into my head by the parade of therapists has never been enough to bolster my confidence to adequately stem the tide before, and though I still take deep calming breaths, count to thousands in increments of ten, and concentrate solely on remaining completely still for hours in five minute stages, I still fail to save me from myself.

The impact of rock bottom will find me yet again, praying for hope and wishing for sanity as I watch helplessly dumbstruck, while my world rains down around me. There, buried in the debris of my crystalline castle, huddled whimpering in the darkness flowing freely from my broken heart and mind, I will fight claustrophobic, from with-in that would be cairn of my perceived inadequacies to begin to scale the sharp-edged heap of yesterday towards the favored sunny places where I dwelt before, repeating the endless Sisyphean cycle of my torment, a cycle engineered and maintained by my own wounded psyche; however, that fact will remain as always, entirely beside the point.


So I have been intending to return to school and finish my degree. The process of application, getting accepted.. has been... frustrating to say the least. But now I am well on my way to completing my registration for my first quarter of school in the pacific northwest! Yay me, and all that.

I almost didn't go through with the registration, the thought of overwhelming myself with class work, and work work, and everyday household runnings was daunting, but with the patience and observations of a few friends, I went ahead and took the plunge. The fear of failure is one of the conditionings from my father, and not one that I give into often... or so I thought. Looking back now, I'd say it's about a 50/50 ratio on my trying new things. Not this time, this is my choice, for my education, for my future happiness, he doesn't get a say.


New To Blogging

Hi everyone, My name is AWolf74075, at least here on the forum. I was recently given the idea that some of my poetry and short stories might find a well received home here among members. Since I rarely share any of my work, this is a wonderful opportunity for me to do so, and perhaps gain some confidence in my own abilities.

I can not promise that there will not be some potential triggers within the bodies of my work; however, I can promise that if I feel there is the slightest possibility that any of my posts may contain a trigger, I will mark the title heading with a Trigger Warning so any readers will receive a heads up!

I hope that as I find, create, and post material that those who choose to read it will find some enjoyment in the reading, and I hope to hear constructive criticism as well! I mean there is always room for improvement. Thank you one and all, and may you have a peaceful and blessed day.



Another poem from my dark ages. I don't think this one particularly triggering, more observational.


I walk through this dark hallway

Its stones are wrought of truth.

Though I walk this path with passion

I've found not yet the proof

That this is indeed a token

of all that lies ahead.

The world in barren question

when all of us are dead.

I walk through this bright hallway,

The glare it hides the facts.

The truth of generations

written by the chaos.

This law of nature's sale,

Man is rather frail,

and as such will fail.

I have walked through many hallways

none are quite the same

Their contemplations differ,

for the season, and the name.

But life is of this nature,

it's all part of the game.

Walk them all again,

you'll find no two the same.


Emotionally Devoid

Hi guys, I don't have anything creative from my high school angsty days to put up today. Rather re-reading those poems has brought about a bit of a painful revelation. I'm NOT alright. I'm not crazy, or broken, suicidal... I don't know what I am. I can't identify any emotion in myself at all. My wife says this isn't how she feels ever, she knows if she is happy, content, sad, angry, vulnerable, hurt etc.... I don't have a clue how to define what or how I am feeling from one moment to the next. Unless I'm raging, that one is hard to miss.

Am I living my life, or am I watching it go by? How many experiences have I missed, emotions and sensations have I avoided thinking I was doing the responsible or mature thing? Am I happy, content? if I'm not happy or content what can I do about it? how would those actions affect the people closest to me, the ones that I trust and that trust me. Could I curtail their happiness in search of my own?

I have so many questions today that I didn't have yesterday, and I have no answers. Couldn't even begin to say where to look to find answers. This is miserable. It's weighing down my normal optimism. Is there anything I can do?



I wrote this poem after spending an afternoon in the great outdoors. Something I never do anymore, I always feel there are too many eyes watching me. Still, it is one of my favorites out of all I have written, so I hope you enjoy!


Natures greatest beauty,

lies in that which is old.

Barren rocks in red clay soil

reflects with rays of gold.

The dawn and set of the sun,

will tell you when the day

has begun and is done.

Far away from human plight,

safely here I spend the night.

The waters clear,

the sky so blue,

Everything a perfect hue

teasing eyes with lost delight.

I want to stay here all my life

safe and sound.

To be perfect too.


Anger, hatred, and despair

I silently consider why you're there.

In the hope that contemplation

will heal this irritation

that leads me to brink of lost control.

As I linger on patrol

my mind begins to wander,

and then as if to smart the wound

cracks appear in my inner gloom.

Placidly I watch,

as my defenses break against the rush,

that cometh from a burning bush

to lighten and protect the way

to man's first enlightened day.

Anger, hatred, and despair

of ghosts that in the closet bare

have shatter all alliance beyond repair.

In this day you would think:

that ghosts would learn to share.

So they flutter on their different ways

They go un-noticed through the haze,

and break into the deep; for an everlasting sleep.

have you ever wondered while you sleep,

about the company you keep?

Per-say - Anger, Hatred, and Despair

Just what are you doing there?


A Ghost In This Town

This poem was written much more recently than the others, within the last 8 years I think. Feel free to comment if you would like. I am always open to criticism.

A Ghost in This Town

The good old days that have flown past;

they plague my waking hours with sorrow,

and my rest with nightmares of solitude.

I pass in silence, like death walking,

watching with patient horror

as my fears become my reality.

At the grocery, the mall, the theaters,

eyes of every hue pass through me

seeking the next wonder to behold.

Wonders that I dare not see

as I pass on toward transparency.

My every step is shadowed

with my own flavor of doubt.

I know not if I have the strength

to break this cycle of anxiety.

My words sound hollow even to myself,

my smile a deception of courage

My infirmities amplify the rejection

of those who scatter to every course

in fear of my infection.

I pass un-noticed through this place,

as I live my days in translucence.

I know they do not see me,

I know I should not care.

But though I care,

I press on to define "me"

So that I shall awake free

of this lonely borne abasement.