Vincent Poe — PTSD is talking here

slept properly. The nightmares, the flashbacks, the overwhelming noise in my head—they had become my constant companions. For as long as I could remember, I'd been trying to outrun them. The memories, the trauma, the things I could never undo. They were there, every moment, chasing me like ghosts, clawing at my heels, pulling me back into the past every time I thought I was free. And yet, here I was. At the edge. I had no answers. No promises to make. Only the relentless grip of PTSD, the broken 92 pieces of my soul scattered across years of mistakes, loss, and shattered hopes. I had been a soldier once—fighting battles both real and imagined. But now, there were no uniforms to hide behind, no commands to follow. Only me, and the man I had become in the wake of it all. 93 I hold the strength you seek inside— in waking up, in simply being alive. Who am I, steady and clear, the one who shows you what's dear? 94 Sometimes this mindset brings tears— tortured memories when the pain isn't present. It's the fear factor of being with others. I strive alone, capture the essence alone, and I will forever live with the happiness of my own existence—alone. I'm okay with that. So should you. 95 Death Does Woven Emotions Death held in the heartstrings of melancholy, molding the heart, body, and soul into a slouched-over form, broken by people, places, and things. He sits alone, complying with the consistency of his trial, darkened by robust testimony. 96 Melancholy stretches from bogus testimony to uplifting revelations. Parting ways from family, friends, aunts and uncles, sitting in a burned-out field— dark, white, gone. 97 Complying with consistency has drained the robust testimony, his final meaning: Just wait for death. He's sitting on swings, waiting for honey. Thank you, Mama— Mother Mary. 98 Linger with your outcast— it's your fault you're this closed. Press. They spent more time backstabbing him, with insecurities flowing as day. 99 Is there an explanation for this loose feeling woven into the mist of broken thoughts? I can't breathe. Eyes wide open, too close to the edge of an inner darkness, spinning between shadow and light. Consciousness wavers, uncertain which path to follow. For now, I tread this journey, carrying only the hope: I'll be out of this soon. 100 Do you ever leave yourself alone Torture syndrome still lingers at the rate of my successful climax, peddling so far, yet the pedals need to always be changed. Am I doing too much? 101 Or— am I doing too little? Seems like the world would rather torture syndrome, than one less lonely pedal left behind. Let's cut to the chase: 102 His voice reaches out— "Send me help," he pleads to the unseen force. But the answer remains unclear. If today is not the hardest, imagine tomorrow. No, why? As I aspire to become a phenomenon, I stand tall amidst a world of doubt. I ponder the words of those who cast stones, their judgments wrapped in veils of ignorance, thrown my way like discarded trash. Yet I, in my quiet defiance, rise. I laugh, unburdened, with strides of loot and triumph, collecting moments of victory like treasures. Each step echoing the rhythm of my resolve. I mark every milestone with unique words, 103 phrases that slice through the air with precision, each one a beacon of my growth, a testament to my strength, to the scars that others never see. With every applause, I dance, a solo act on a stage where envy never rests. 104 Yet I remain unshaken, for their misery is the shadow that fades beneath my light. I am not here for approval. I am here for greatness. 105 I break beneath the mathematics of untuned sorrows— wandering echoes of forgotten time, fractals of longing spiraling through unsolved equations. Each sigh, a variable misplaced in the theorem of love. I reach for the essence of others, their laughter, their silent wounds, woven into the fabric of my unraveling. Yet even in this shattered arithmetic, there is beauty— a whispering plant growing through the cracks, a puddle reflecting not just sorrow, but the shimmer of something whole. I can sit there. 106 You got comfy in the riddles he gave me— "give him an inch, let's see if I can run a mile." So you tried. Oh, I saw. And I sat there. 107 Watch my power whisper through your mind like a slow-burn storm. Mental torture? I don't lift a finger. I just exist. Price of nice. He smiled when they cursed, bowed when they mocked, gave when it hurt, and never once balked. He listened too long, spoke softly in storms, offered his coat when the world wasn't warm. They called him a saint, "a good one, a light," but shadows grow long when you're always polite. He bent 'til he broke, still wore a grin, 108 but kindness, unchecked, lets the darkness in. 109 The whispers came first, like frost on the glass, then laughter at mirrors each night as they passed. 110 A nice soul can burn from too much repair. Kindness is sacred, but never for free— and even sweet angels can drown in their plea. "At the end of the day, the only fool in the act of kindness is you—smiling like a saint while they pocket your halo. Watch how people move; decency is as rare as a politician with a conscience." 111 He simmers— quietly boiling in the broth of your thought process. He warned you, didn't he? 112 PTSD? It's forever a claimant. And the claimant? Always presents a scene. 113 Ever hear yourself walk away again— as I crawl into your morning routine thoughts? 114 Faded Echoes The rain taps against my window, a rhythm of forgotten thoughts. I was someone once, or maybe still, buried under the weight of "what ifs." 115 In the Wake of Silence Silence is the loudest thing, in the wake of everything I've said. The words hang in the air, unspoken, untouched. And I wonder if I'll ever hear them again. But the silence speaks, in ways the words never could. 116 Blank spaces rush through my head— empty feelings toward the ones I love dearly. Lost. Torn. Shaken. 117 I want myself back— back in my body. I'm still breathing, but it feels like I'm breathing someone else's soul. 118 Like I'm living in a world that isn't mine— walking down their path, cleaning up their mistakes. 119 If I called you my home, would you build it from the ground up? If I called you my home, could you hold the roof when the storms come? If I called you my home, would you build a family? 120 People will stomp on your pride, try to destroy your future, throw you under the bus in the middle of your comeback. 121 Remember grace in those moments. Attack it with happiness. Walk away with your head high. The landslide doesn't matter. Build that motherfucker back. • • • I sit here jotting down someone who still lives in my everyday thoughts. 122 I lost touch with myself— lost a lot along the way. Fought too many battles. Rode too many waves. Didn't think I'd make it. • • • I left my better self to be with you— and my mind paid for it. 123 His world isn't like yours— or anyone else's. He doesn't fit in. His brain never stops running. 124 And suddenly— he's in shock. Stuck. Frozen. His life is in turmoil again. 125 He's stone— formed from dirt, pressed into shape by pain. He's got this. Leaving. Dropping. • • • Two wrongs don't make a right… but it's his life. Let him figure it out. Right? 126 He's tasting ownership because he handed his world to someone who drained him bone-dry without even a respectful goodbye. 127 I left myself to be with you— surpassing the worst in my mind that kept telling me this was bad. …listen to your heart. 128 I rode the wave for a while, then I saw the storms ahead building fast— miles away. I couldn't stay afloat. • • • Don't take every downfall as a reason to destroy your mind. Take it as a lesson. • • • One day you'll wake up and remember who you are. What you have. Why you have it. 129 130 Life isn't hard— the only one making it harder is you. We connect to people, but it only takes the first glimpse, the first kiss, the first touch to win us over. We meet in the strangest ways. They say love hits unexpectedly. 131 But— sike. Let it go. Because if you don't, you'll be hurt in the long run. 132 I see us fading— and what's worse is it's happening right in front of our eyes. • • • I got the answers I needed. Fight every battle. Face every flaw. 133 Because when someone makes you feel like everything is your fault— every complaint becomes something you're forced to absorb. 134 Trying to understand someone is one of the hardest things to survive. You want to win them over. Show them who they really are. • • • My best friend gave me the world… and I couldn't even grasp how good it was. 135 But it's still there— an underlying issue. Sitting in the silence, realizing there wasn't: respect, love, care, compassion. • • • They called it "young love." Like it wasn't real. Sad. Broken. Torn. 136 A mess left behind— a shattered heart with pieces you're forced to pick up. Don't give up. Push further. Tomorrow will come. 137 Sorry to hurt you— but these feelings have to be expressed. I can't stop here, letting it stay bottled up until it explodes. 138 For the one who always overthinks every possibility— trying to explain feelings to you never sat right with me. Weeping. Sitting in sadness. • • • The art of my mind doesn't comprehend the feelings I'm supposed to have. 139 Honestly… I thought jumping in again would be the last hurt. But this time, I can't even weep. 140 But love can lie— even when you think you finally found someone. Days pass. You still miss them. 141 Don't sit there letting what happened own your well-being. See the better in yourself. • • • A great experience is like honey— it has to be pure to be real. 142 Feelings… it takes a lot for someone to face their pain. Understand. Cry. Overreact if you have to. • • • Try to be the person you want to be. Didn't like it? Lost interest in them? 143 Opening your heart when you first meet someone is a timeless risk— and it rarely goes the way you think it will. People are fake. 144 We give up our bodies because someone is attractive… and we forget what it means to care for each other. So hope for the best. But don't be blind. 145 Finally— in the right place. The sky is blue. The sun is bright. 146 I look at you in the mirror— blindsided by the demons surrounding your aura. And you tell yourself: second looks aren't bad— especially when you're hurting. 147 The bloodshed of a broken heart can turn into a storm of unbreakable feelings. But other people's pity parties? Over. 148 After all— blaming something you can't change… and attacking with words without a shield— that's something you have to unlearn. 149 Ex's and oh's— two things we avoid trying to work out. Because once it happens, you get stuck in a war of unfortunate events in the eyes of love. 150 The joy of loving someone shouldn't be a battle. Everyday compassion. Character. Power. Strength. 151 Carrying heartbreak inside yourself feels like war— and you question yourself without an army. "You are my shining armor. My dusk to dawn. My lust to thrust. Envying every flaw. 152 To succeed in life, you have to strive for the best. Wanting to be in love. Wanting to be seen. 153 Our biggest weakness is repeating unfortunate events. But we can foresee obstacles. We can learn the signs. When life takes a turn, follow the horizon. There is always greatness ahead. 154 When I think of you, my world wants to be with you. When I think of you, my world wants to end with you. 155 The kind that can lead to catastrophic endings— bloodshed of the mind. Maybe it's best we end. But maybe it's best you stay. It's ambivalent. It's unreasonable. 156 And somehow… it makes perfect sense. When I think of you, my world wants to be with you. • • • Then the man downtown came to my door looking for you. I cried. 157 I confess— I'm lost. Something's in the air. Collapsing lungs. Fatigued feelings. 158 Now I'm drying up— shaken, destroyed, torn into a million pieces of the unknown. 159 Sometimes in life, when everything feels shallow— I rise above it. Sometimes in life, when everything feels shallow— storms are ahead. 160 And he reflects— on the inability to say "I love you" again. Just more lust. More distance. More pretending. When he's alone, his melody starts— real tears, hidden feelings. 161 But what matters most is the ending— because whatever this was… was oddly addictive. He might be crazy. He might be lost. • • • He needs to be left alone on this earth. It's his life now. Walk away. • • • Who is he today?" 162 To whom I once loved— your selfless events made me stronger. • • • Thief. All you do is steal me away. 163 You're the one who takes me for rides at night. All you do is steal me away. You're my escape route. 164 Praying for the day my heart stops bleeding for it. Because I want to fight for love. I want to fight for you. • • • I can't keep walking down your path— built from lies and sorrow. 165 Moving on from the past can be so quick— like my first love: bittersweet, and straight to the point. 166 But is seeing my world through one lens the end? I'm down on my knees, praying— for someone to take me from this love I had for you. I'm so lost. • • • I'm so lost. I'm so clustered. • • • An emotional mess— under a cloudy sky… Hi. Are you there? … • • • Running away 167 from the thought of being murdered out of your mind. 168 Falling to my knees, wondering if there's a God watching over me. 169 Trying to outrun the worst years of my past by catching up to my future— but always running into a dilemma. 170 A halt of selfless events that always ruins me. I wish I didn't think about the past. Why does it affect me so much? 171 You change the way I look at life— how it works, how I survived, how I keep going. • • • Blah, blah. They say I'm this. They look at me less. 172 I wish you weren't the one I loved. You destroyed my heart. You destroyed my soul. • • • I sit here in my bed, wondering if I'm something to someone. 173 I try to run, but I'm surrounded by your thorns— stuck, and hurt. It's hard sometimes. 174 Stumbling into the past of my future— a halt in time. A quick look back. Skimming old pages, questioning myself: "Why is this happening again?" • • • "The Completely Over It Part." Is there something a conflicted soul needs repaired? • • • "The Completely Over It Part." 175 Within myself— third person— I should be fine. 176 But it's still a lie I've always told myself: "You'll never find love, lust, or confidence again…" Just the mind repeating: Completely over it. A conflicted soul. 177 But I Refuse to Perform in That Play Anymore Breathe. I released the past. "The reality of my family— bruised, abused, tortured, yet unbreakably proud." Breathe. I will not cry, die, or tremble. 178 The first sign of "pitching a pity party." Has began. howling to your own pack to seek the emotional damages that they left. Your scar that overwhelms your process of trying to be more socially acceptable during the simplest of occurrences? Yeah, PTSD is forever a "claimant" The claimant will always present a scene. Ever hear yourself walk away from your body? Ah. 179 Today's feature showing: Sunday, July 23, 2023 The word stupid. You're empty with dopamine, • • • A traumatized mind The unwillingness that they face. a feeling of emptiness, 180 Completely swamped in a puddle of tears this feeling of a destroyed past Changes you. begging for some kind of happiness 181

Slept properly. the

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