...your words are a bandaid --
taped over exit wounds...
Sorrow sits
sour in the stomach
unnameable nebulous tortures
churn up the throat
like vomiting blood
spit against grey white pavement
in the hot sun.
_
So difficult to ignore.
_
Hollow comforts sooth nothing
your words are a bandaid --
taped over exit wounds --
shotgun brains blasted
sliding serenely down
antiseptic institutional walls.
_
So hard to scrub clean.
_
The same sick song
spins on loop
beats set on repeat
as again and again
you strike that same chord
which sets my heart thrumming.
_
Like twisting the speartip jab.
_
A book-length psychodynamic study of pathological narcissism, relationships
with abusive narcissists, and the Narcissistic Personality Disorder, using a new vocabulary.
I met Jerome on a busy city street in Baltimore, Maryland, when he was forty-five years old. On that particular day, I was out and about, enjoying a much-needed day off from work.
I wanted to purchase a sukiyaki sub. I parked my car in an area of
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