A ruthless part of me lured me down the darkest alley of my mind
to show me what we could become if I abandoned myself.
With each step, the streetlight behind me fades
–further from the present, deeper into the past, closer to a future I can’t escape.
At the end of the street, a trench-coated figure waits and checks his watch
A warm ember flickered off his cigarette
— a brief glow that revealed his identity.
I realized… I was him.
I gasped — feeling the slow warmth of blood spilling from my chest.
my knife sliding out of my chest and back into his coat.
I’d been gutted, gasping for air.by blades tempered in the past and dipped in the poison of broken promises of the future.
I staggered toward the flickering dim light, desperate to live.
every step grew heavier, the world spinning, my body succumbing to the loss of vitality.
Behind me, he followed —to make sure I couldn’t escape,to make sure I stayed with him.
Another spark from his cigarette bared his grin and cold, soulless eyes
—this wasn’t his first kill.
I fought to reach out to you —but you looked away from the windows of my soul.
you never knew, something in me died…
You left me there to die, and you never knew.
With my last breaths, I saw the killer look at you
—and you smiled back.
Living with complex PTSD is like walking a narrow path alongside a dark alley you know too well — the one where your past waits, patient and unforgiving. It consumes more of your life than anyone sees, turning everyday tasks like doing the dishes or going to work into hours of survival. Being social, sharing joy, feeling safe — these become rare glimmers, brief and fragile, easily snuffed out like the fleeting glow of a cigarette.We are often our own worst enemies, merciless in the way we haunt ourselves, a gangster stalking the darkest corners of our mind, knowing every hidden alley better than our conscious thoughts do.This piece is that struggle made visible — the fight between the hope to live fully and the weight of a past bleeding into the present that won’t let go. It’s easy for others to dismiss this pain with words like “You need help” or “Just get over it.” I wish it were that simple. (Window scene) Healing/coping is a slow, messy and painful journey — one I’m working on every day. – All the while, understanding my Autism and how it has helped and hindered this work.Maybe someday, that psychological gangster stalking my mind and heart will take a break. Maybe he’ll sit down for a coffee and nod at me with a quiet smile.