The Nowhere Place

  Have you looked for me? Wondered where the traveler may be? A few have, and my gratitude is beyond expression. While we all love to sling our ink to page regarding our last spanking, broken heart, kids, flowers, pets, books, add in some more spanking just for fun; are we not really hear for the community? Who post then honestly hopes it never reaches anyone.

 Thus here I am. Actually I am in my “nowhere place” which is emotional not physical. I started going there subconsciously while spending so many years alone as a defensive mechanism. It is a place where I function but quite literally am void of emotion. Very much like a Prozac, Seriquil, Jack Daniels party except I have had none of those this week. 

  I am here because all that I hoped I might could have in a relationship has gone away. A twenty seven year investiment gone. Very much like staying with one company all your career to discover there is no pension at the end. Not even a cheap watch, or grocery store cake. Just a “if you dont want this I’m taking it”. Then realizing the next morning you do not even have utensils for fruit loops.

  So here I am. Nowhere. A familiarplace. Except, this time, I have my Zil who can sense all my medical and emotional issues. She comes over as I look through old Army stuff, puts a paw on my shoulder and gives me kisses. Who can stay in nowhere when Zil is around?

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I Need No Blade


I need no blade to gash my flesh.

My memories are sharp enough.

They rip my heart and burn my soul.

No scar do they leave.

They come to me with gnashing teeth.

Bringing a hell I know to well.

No I need no tool to torture me.

Pain gnaws it way through my flesh.

I embrace it now my sadistic lover.

Flay me open until my soul escapes.

Death bringing sweet release.

If You Have Ears


She lay between my legs

I feel her hot breath

As she

Snores like a man

You were not expecting that. So sorry. Yet thus is the tale of my current romance. Me laying in my king size bed with her there sleeping. Who am I to complain if she prefers to sleep between my legs. It is rather comforting. Furthermore she begins each night with several minutes of kisses. 

How wonderful she is. How devoted. Her primary concern in life, me. I am a blessed man. Who could as for more. 

If only we all had PTSD and a similar companion.

Diary

  
  My psychiatrist ssuggested I start keeping a diary to give my emotions a positive outlet. Searching online I found a rustic looking leather one which passed the man test well enough. To write with I purchased a vintage fountain pen. Yes, I was going to do the whole diary thing stylishly. My intentions were, well, intentions.

  Day One. My entry gave a brief history of why I was writing. Delving into my past. Some into my present. Various outlines of potential futures. When done I signed the page, tied the diary shut and laid it on my night stand. Thirty minutes later I walked into my bathroom. Retrieved a straight razon and removed page one. It found it’s way to the bottom of the trash with old coffee grounds covering it. Clean slate. Sharing is still an issue.

  Day One, the second. Not as detailed. Very generic. More of a “this is what I did today”. Straight Razor. Trash. No evidence.

  Day One, the third. Straight Razor. Trash.

Day One, the fourth. Here I am. For thoses of you few who are my friends in cyber safeness. So I will return to this my safe zone. I will rip my soul bare. Share my pains and joy. Throw out a few hugs along the way. 

Thanks for walking with me.

When Does it Stop

I wallow in my pit of sorrow

Ever the vigilant depressive

Waiting

Waiting on arms to reach around me

Pull me off my back

Hoping

Hoping one day I will be understood

This is not my choice

Praying

Praying she will understand

God alone can not fix me

Thinking

Thinking depression is better

Than the swing from happiness to anger

Wishing

It would all just end

Past Crashing Back

Sometimes my past becomes more than my present can handle. With no one to tell but myself in the mirror. So I scream at myself and say the only good hero is a dead one. Wishing I could find peace. Praying for the pain to end and the anger to go away. Hoping all anyone sees is the kind me. The bit of love that I force to the surface because it is the only part of me I wish to keep. So now I keep the beast at bay. I pet my dog, smoke my cigar crying silent tears. It will all scar over again soon.