Matt Borczon

morning after


the summer


the sky

is a bullet

from a

blue gun

and all

hopes for

the new

year are

buried in

mud and slush


I’m trying

to change

the tire

on this

life I

drive 100

miles an hour

wiping  sweat

off my

game face

thinking its

time to

re commit


to God

or work

say Buddhist

prayers practice

TM join a gym

attend a

meeting or



or else  its

time to sign

that suicide

pact you wrote

back when

you never

thought you’d

be this sad

this tired

this broken

or this old.



PTSD therapy


after all

these years

I’m still


the skin

off my


still biting

my nails

till they

bleed still

putting on

the uniform

no matter

how many

times I

try to

bury it

my therapist

says I

can tell

her anything

but I’m

still afraid

and don’t

know how

to explain

the blinking

lights in

the eyes

of ghosts

or the

sound of

an infants

last breath.



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