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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
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 shatt
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
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 wonde
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
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
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
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. U
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
Another poem from my dark ages. I don't think this one particularly triggering, more observational. Hallways 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 i
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! Beauty 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
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?
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
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
