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Amazing review of Dark Ramblings of the Phoenix. Thank you. Lorane Leavy from
As a writer, obviously one of the best feelings is when someone leaves an open and honest review of the book you spent so much time creating. I have had many reviews on Amazon and I love them all.
Lorane Leavy from Plum Tree Books recently reviewed my latest Dark Ramblings of the Phoenix. Read the full review here.
Stockholm, in a rare autobiographical revelation, demonstrates a helpful and kind bent, giving his readers ‘clues’ to his ‘mystery’ at the outset. We learn that these words “were written when I got too deep into myself or woke from a bad dream. . . they are as I wrote them; with the pain that fuelled them. ”
The reader, like boy’s wallpaper, can only witness, cursed with impotence, condemned to participate mutely.
Like boy, reader begins to pray for death. There is no end, no escape. Can we just dissolve to “Blackout” – THE END?
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New Release!
While writing Dear Teddy – Journal of a Boy, JD Stockholm experienced many vivid thoughts. Some came to him in sleep while others seemed to appear at random through his musings. He had time traveled, in a way, to a place where the darkness of his abusive childhood occurred and alongside, also came the dark and sometimes painful reflections.
They are real and raw; emotionally explicit and even occasionally, healing. Walk with him through his poetic journey as he takes you to those tiny cracks that most of us will never see.
Note: Please take special care that the writings in this book may be explicit in nature. If you have been abused in any way they may be triggering for you. Be considerate to yourself while you read.
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Trapped
Today is a day I need to fight myself out of that hole. The one inside that feels heavy and I sigh a lot. Each minute drags on and the thought of tomorrow seems pointless. The pain inside weighs heavy and if I could just reach in and pull it out I’d be okay.
I wonder if it ever goes away. If we can ever reach ‘normal’
Maybe a survivors life is like those funny pictures you see where you can never unsee the illusion once you’ve seen it. I feel like everyone lives a normal life without knowing the horror and inside I have this agony that I can’t move and can’t give to anyone.
It’s almost like a mask. I feel like a normal person with everything feeling okay, trapped in the mind of myself.
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Did you?
Did you think I was a toy?
Nothing more, not a boy
Your child
Your son
Did you not see me cry?
Did you ever even try?
To love me
To want me
Did you not notice my tears?
Hidden behind so many fears
Locked inside
Unshed and broken
Did you even care to blink?
Perhaps time to stop and think,
Of what you did
And how it hurt
Did it matter when I said no?
Did you even want to know?
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For You
For you
Do not ask if I am okay
I will tell you a lie
Do not look at me too deeply
Let me have these things to hide
Do not ask if I am hurt
I will not show you my scars
Do not ask if I did bleed
Self carved punishment are not your cares.
Do not look into my eyes
They hold nothing for you to see
A smile rests upon my face
It’s for you, a façade
So that you may live
With eyes untainted.
Do not dig with questioning concern
I give you this gif
tFreedom From the wounds I carry
I do this
For you.
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Illusion
Inside when I am breaking.
You do not see the damage you have done.
No tears from my eyes because my crying is silent,
but a smile upon my face.
The illusion of my existence.
Would you cry for me if I were to die?
Would you weep? Would you care?
Perhaps you would relish in the sympathy of others.
Fake tears in your eyes, a real smile upon your face.
The illusion of your existence.
I wish I could show you the pain in my eyes.
The tainted colours of my soul.
The shattered pieces I carry inside.
No glue to bind me.
No love to make me whole once more.
It’s the illusion of my life.
You walk through life a gracious man.
Not wearing the vile seeds you grew.
The deeds that stain your essence.
A proud man for all to love.
That is the illusion of your life.
This is what this is.
This game you play.
An illusion of father and son.
I am nothing more than a mirror for you to gaze and smile at your perfection.
A narcissistic façade.
Created in the illusion of your creation.
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Inside
Behind my smile you wont see,
So many things I try and hide
The dull ache inside my chest
Heavy
The weary pull of each breath
To inhale, laden with a sorrowed sigh,
Bitterness is absent,
In place a yearning.
The dark emptiness created within,
Painful hunger for something unknown
The tired heart that’s beats
Slowly
Shattering warmth
Scattered pieces cast away
The weight of sadness.
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Music Man
Music Man
The music man does not play my song
Vicious notes that tear inside
I play it myself
Music of my heart
Releasing it
Its sombre sound flows out red
From my arm, my skin
My flesh made violin
In the darkness of my room
No audience to applaud me
No reprieve, no orchestra
The sharpened blade of my bow
The knife I wield
Directed at me, solely
The lonesome musician of shattered pieces.
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Made to order
Made to order
What do you want?
What do you need?
A child, that’s yours,
Some kind of servant
Today I bleed
Because that’s what was ordered
My screams he needs them
Doesn’t matter how
It’s how I should be
Maybe so small
Like a little child unaware
Playing my games
Prey on the floor
To be stalked and taken
It’s just a game to you
It doesn’t matter
You chose
You pay
We get laid out how they want
Candy in the store
The jewel you see
A prize
Yours
Tailored
Money it talks
It buys what you need
Even the innocent
Doesn’t really matter
Evil deeds
Get it wrong
There are ways to train
A fist, a boot, maybe a demonstration
If you’re lucky
This is how you do it
I take down their order
Mix it around
Make it how they want it
Imagination with no bounds
I serve you.
JD Stockholm. 