Tag Archives: PTSD

“It All Follows Suit”

Memories are tainted now
Most of them are changed somehow
Memories of you gone by
Of how and what and where and why
And it all flows to me
And it all but follows suit
My mind is misguided now
Of things that I had once contrived
Things that I had once subscribed
Are no longer to be found
And it all encumbers me
And it all but follows suit
Things are lost and things are found
Some of them are in the ground
Memories of you, my love
They are no longer sound
And it all enters me
And it all but follows suit
Buried deep beneath the waves
In hidden places and in caves
Secret places where I’ve wept
Is where my love for you is kept
And it all encompasses me
And it all but follows suit
Now that you have guided me
In lessons that I needed to see
Are you teaching comfortably
Now that you are over me?
And it’s all emended me
And it all but follows suit
And it’s all corrected me
As it all follows suit

Thanks for the lessons.
Inspired by Leonard Cohen’s “Teachers”

— David Allen


“Oceans of Resentment”

When the pillars of Rome are piled in ruin

And our past smolders and burns in the rubble

Are you accustomed to living a lie?

As the western shores are all ablaze?

Your bridges are a conflagration

And your spirit will stir in darkness

And you came to me in black and white

In dreams of ghastly heresy

A wanton woman in her fiery rage

Damaged by the lovers of her past

You were the smokey air I breathed

Whom I cherished more than life itself

I wished for nothing more than your contentment

Even though I’m not needed to fulfill it

You were the water in the reeds

The sea-foam on the banks of incontinence

Washing away the seeds of resentment

To still this broken, unremarkable hand

And on this path I wander,

I carry no baggage in life

Only in mine own heart

And that is heavy enough

And as my love washed upon your shores of indifference

You were nearly swept away

But I didn’t mean for you to drown

Though I thought your waters were far too shallow

And the undertow had plunged you deeper still

But I’ll stem my tide

If you’ll staunch your flow of hate

And if you’ll dam your embankment of anger

And let it be damned, your pathology

You’re like a dream to me now

Half-remembered and incomplete

And isn’t that how all good dreams end?

The edges all obscured?

The details a fog?

Twisted and stirred into the darkness

Blackened and frayed at the seams

And people say we dream in black and white

But I remember you so vividly

Another sea to drink

Another flood of emotions

Washed upon the shores of deliverance

I’ve never felt a deeper chill,

Than the coldness in your heart

No other waters ever ran so cold

And now they wash over me

Like a memory of shimmering tides

I don’t mind being a memory to you

Even if just a ripple in your timeline

But I wish it were a good one

And that you were not left so parched

— David

“However did it come to this?”

You’re beautifully wounded

Damaged beyond repair

You’ve got lines around your eyes

And silver in your hair

The taste of you was unappealing

Despite the smell of strawberries

A promise unfruitful

And a lie so deceiving

Whatever happened to the person I met,

The one that you pretended to be?

Where did she go, and why did she leave?

And how did she slip away from me?

You looked like honey and swayed like lilies

But your politics was suffocating

However did it come to this?

To go from “I love you” to such a deadly kiss?

Yours was a succulent persuasion

With poison on your lips

A delectable delight

Taken in small sips

With lipstick the color of a funeral

And an air of rot on your sex

So how did you become so beautifully damaged?

And however did it come to this?

How could we end on such a bitter note,

When a life with you had boasted bliss?

And how can you hate me so,

When I gave my heart so readily?

I offered it all to you

And for my efforts I was burned

Scarred and deeply inflicted

From a love that came at great cost

But our time together is not bereft

And my time with you was not a loss

For a valuable lesson I have learned

And a painful memory is all that’s left

Of the one for whom I’ve yearned

And all that there is left,

And all that I’ve obtained from this,

Is heartache and despair

So, however did it come to this?

How can it be that a love so deep,

Can become a deep, black ocean of hate?

Do you even have one fond memory of me?

How different our memories of each other are

It’s now unpleasant to remember you at all

So every time you say, “no one loves me,”

Just remember that I did

Each time you claim that no one cares,

Know that I do, and always will

You can choose not to believe in such things,

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true

You can pretend that what we had was nothing,

But it was everything to me

A pointless, meaningless feud…

That’s all that’s left of us now

But was I ever more to you than that?

Did you ever love me at all?

You’ve destroyed every good moment that we spent

And maybe that was the point

Maybe that’s the help you needed

To close the door on us

As for me, I just needed closure

I needed to understand why you wanted to destroy us

…All that we had

Or could’ve been


I just needed to know why

I needed to see why you gutted me so

And why you left things so irreparable

And how you can be so pleased with this

When the time that we had was once something that you missed

I just need to understand

How it could ever have come to this

— David Allen


Nothing can convince me that your love was real

I know better than that now

What a fool I was to be taken in by your deception

But your act was flawless at the time

And I wanted so badly for it to be true

I had a playbill in my hand when we first met

And your name was flooded in lights

I remember you were center stage

And your stage-name was Bunni,

“The Performer Extraordinaire”

I attended all of your shows

And I clapped at every performance

But there came a time when I couldn’t afford to see you anymore

The facade of a human mask you wore had slipped

And the cost of loving you had become too steep

But I remember who you once pretended to be

You even looked like a real person

…but only on the outside

Complete with a conscience, a soul, and a moral sense of responsibility,

All of which would gleam in your eye,

As you’d sit there and lie

And you even had a sense of humor, too

You could laugh at the most delicate hearts breaking

But that’s because you’re an actor, see

And the hearts of men were the stage on which you stood

It was a platform that you danced upon

And you twirled and twirled beneath a hand-painted sky

But now you stand upon the hardened backs of those whom you’ve manipulated

And you gaze into the abyss of empty dreams that lay broken at your feet

You cackle at those who once loved you

And you grind your heel on the lives that you’ve touched

But whose blood will you wash your hands in next,

When the final curtain falls?

And who will make the final cut,

And what will be your roll?

As for me, I’ve learned to read between the lines

And I see the performance for what it is

It was a work of fiction

And you were just an entertainer,

Not to be taken seriously

Your love was nothing more than a stage-prop

And I can see past that illusion now,

Clearer than I ever have before

Every moment we spent together was an act

And what a performance it was

You actually had me in tears

And to think, I applauded you

I even bought into your act

I gave out tickets to that show

But it was nothing more than popcorn entertainment

And I was just a member of the audience

So, which character are you today?

Are you Bunny, or Bunni?

Or are you Kay?

Are you Noel, Miss Lapin, or Mademoiselle?

What kind of game is this that you play?

And what is the point of the story you tell?

I could never decide if you were a comedy or a tragedy

You wore both faces so well

But to Hell with your version of reality,

If this is the fiction you sell

— David Allen

“Raise Me Up”

Poppa, where are you now?

You should see the boy you left behind

You’re the only person I could’ve turned to

You should’ve been the friend I needed now

Poppa, did you find your way?

Could you have taken your son with you?

Is there any room where you are? 

Will they run a tab for a schlub like me?

Poppa, are they charging rent?

Do they still take MasterCard?

Brother, can you spare a halo?

Is my money any good there?

Poppa, are you happy where you are?

Do your favorite bands still play?

Is Hendrix still a nut?

Is Morrison still as high as fuck?

Are they all playing together now?

Poppa, is faith a real currency?

Are they taking Agnostics?

Do they still have MTv?

Is it even what it used to be?

Poppa, is it bright where you are?

Are you looking down on me?

Can you see what I’ve become?

Have you seen what I can be?

Poppa, do you think they’ll drop the bomb?

Do you even see the latest news?

Our leaders have lost their minds

But I guess you’d know this anyway

Poppa, where does your faith lie now?

We’re taught to believe that alcohol is okay

But weed is the Devil’s work

What do you believe?

What have you seen?

Dear old Dad,

What have we become?

— David Allen

“Without Further Ado”

Prologue: What I’ve posted below is one of several unpublished poems that I’ve written about someone whom I briefly dated in 2015. This particular poem was written about a half a year ago, at a time when I still had tears to shed over her. Shortly after I wrote it, however, it became painfully clear to me that my love for her was never reciprocated, nor could it ever be. And it was at that moment that my healing process finally began. I suppose it’s never too late to accept a loss and move on. But there will always be a part of me that still loves her, as well as certain memories that she can never destroy (no matter how hard she tries).

I’m glad I kept all of the writings that I’ve accumulated over these past two years. They were painful memories, and still are. But they are mine, and that’s the one thing she can never take away from me. I learned this valuable lesson a few years ago while watching a documentary about one of my favorite poets/songwriters, Leonard Cohen. It was in this documentary that Bono, singer of U2, had said — and I’m quoting this only from memory — “There are probably things that Leonard discarded in the trash that would humble another writer.” Truer words have never been uttered, and it taught me to never throw out things that I’ve written or felt, even if those feelings no longer exist.

Well, there are so many things that I’ve written about this particular person over the past two years — some of which were published, while others were not — some of which were written purely out of love, while others were written out of anger. But I’m glad I’ve saved them all. What I wouldn’t give to be able to sift through Leonard’s trash. And what I wouldn’t give to be able to sort things out with the greatest love of my life, even though she treated our relationship like trash. So, “without further ado,” here are the last words of love I had written about someone whom I meant absolutely nothing to.

“Without Further Ado”

Nothing seems real since you’re gone

And my flesh feels like a blank canvas

But I no longer bleed red

I only spill black and blue

And only for you

So, accept me as I was

Or take me as I am

But take me, for I am yours

And always was

And forever shall be

Devoted to you

— David Allen

“Winter’s Elegy”

Wild bull thistle puncture my dreams

As the whip-poor-will wake me with song

There’s a sweetness on the air, even in sorrow

And it’s carried on our backs like a broken tune

Telephone poles are slick with morning ice

And the lines are adorned with fallen seed pod

They dangle like musical notes on a musical bar

Swaying in tune as Old Man Winter composes again

An overture for the ears of another season

A symphony on the wind of change

Soft sleet on a tin roof begins the percussion

While the bravest of birds flap their wings against the chill

Raising the rhythm and setting the tempo

Starts anew, a lullaby for an icy world

As a blanket of white is unfurled

— David Allen