Dense black mucous

seeps through every pore

of my scarred skin

through every hair follicle

coating each strand thickly

A river of hot bitumen floods

my veins and arteries

I cannot breathe with

my lungs as sponges

suffocated by filthy grime

reaching my heart

filling it with sticky tar

My brain is flushed with soot

My mind is black

All has ceased


black leaf


    1. I began blogging in 2014, so you have unearthed some of my very much older and mostly forgotten posts. When I first started, I was also dealing with a lot of trauma. Unfortunately, I ended up with an emotionally abusive relationship with, of all people, a therapist (there are several posts about this earlier on and not so early on, too). She walked out on me on the day my father died, which is still unthinkable. I buried all my childhood trauma at that point. Very unfortunately, I was then a victim of adult rape (which I’ve never written about), and it’s only now that I’m with a good therapist, having had a long, long break from therapy, that I’m dealing with my traumas all over again, only in the correct way now. You are quite right, this poem is not unlike some of those I’m writing now. X

      1. Woah. I really hate it when people who are meant to be helping others turn out evil… Sorry that she caused you pain, even with her departure, but at least that allowed you to get a fresh – healthier – start.

      2. Thanks, Sam. She caused me a lot of emotional damage. I’m glad I’ve never bumped into her on the way into town, as she only lives a couple of streets away from me. I really don’t know how I would react if that happened. I hope it doesn’t. X

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