An army marching on me.
to take my identity.

to take my sanity.

Attempting to take out,
my reality.


That is what they were,
that absolute suffocation,
where you can do nothing right,
and you become damned in every situation.


My identity a castle, a fortress,
that I defended to the hilt,
but the lumbering army entrenched in the past,
marched on drenched in childhood guilt.

No awareness,
just a target,
on which to advance,
Who I was, who I am, killed immediately,
it never stood a chance

James Garratt – August 2008

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