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Reflections
These poems are completely amateur so please don't judge too harshly. I could find no way of straight writing and kept deleting my efforts. The poems seems to be sticking. 

mind pulse

7/21/2020

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Mechanical pulse  grates like granite boulders; 
blocks, rocks; frozen rigid shoulders
spines   and neural   passages passing
the time inert,  passively;
parsing  repeating memories
removing particles in miles -out extremities 
extruding  free radicals, finally freed,
exuding radical ideas and emboldened mind seeds.
Thud thud thud goes the blood stream. 
A headache  crown on top of a  spinal  dream. 


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nowhere is quiet

7/8/2020

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Pitch sharp crystal glass crashing alarm bells ringing
pummelling frontal wall in your face gnashing
eyes bulging shouting at dogs barking blaming
basically nothing on no-one
the noise is only children playing
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I suck

7/7/2020

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I suck at this , that , those,  writing prose;
pretending to know , yet not knowing  but smiling 
yet not smiling,  a dead-eyed doze ,  feet tapping
a thousand tap  tap tap -dance , jiggling knees , twitching toes
eyes flicking  flickering , bony elbows
digging in ,  scraping on sandpaper pillows.

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down the curtain

7/6/2020

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closed stone apertures  , dingy gaps , cave holes 
tightly snapped  , gripped, tracking apps 
retracting back, trying to close 
swallow grit down with pints of  snow
swallows emerge from nested shallows
shielding,  .. yet viral shadows follow.
Bone marrow, borrowed from tomorrow's 
blood transfusions,  infused with blood red sorrow.
Not the same old too -and-frow..  oh no... 
Go for a walk, tread the same tired steps away from 
dread. Wash your inside face in  alcohol. 
Numb the feeling , strum the rails , clasp  tightly
to bony walls. You can't leave it at home. 
Its there in your head  silly boy. 
Stagger across a road, almost run over by a red 
speeding wheelbarrow. Get back in the hedge
a leafy hug and place to  hide  and join Swallow
in it's nest.  

Curtain drawing across beating chest 
vision draping , curling  wings   like feathered fingers
getting ready to sing.  Better think of something. 
This head needs a new tune , a new ring tone 
and a new head for this body to follow. 
Come this way , meander that way
but stay off of the same old road. 
A year of writing the same old .
Drawing the same  old. 
just looking for a hand to hold.











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    by Paul Sinclair


    This journal confronts childhood trauma, adult PTSD and anxiety disorder. There are also experiential themes of ACOA (being an adult child of an alcoholic).

    I'm hoping this research and testimony can help the 1 in 5 children and adult children either experiencing addiction and abuse, or the adult consequences. 

    ​We can heal ourselves. 

    https://nacoa.org/
    https://adultchildren.org/
    ​https://www.mind.org.uk/

    THIS IS A CHAOTIC AND PERSONAL ACCOUNT, PLEASE ALLOW FOR FREE THOUGHTS, EMOTIONAL EXPRESSION AND POETRY. 

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© 2020 Paul Sinclair 
  • BLACKFLAME MOVIE
  • TRAUMA Reflections
  • about
  • MAKING OF