Poems for the average broken individual

My brain is bumd

My skull is pretty, I have a perfect shaped head.
Its holds together tightly, the shards of my brain,
Which keeps in place the words that broke it.
Painful memories are pinched between
The chunks and slices of my shattered mind.
When a thought wants to escape,
It tries to fight through the barricade of pain.
It pushes and squeezes against the jagged edges
Of my fractured and disabled mind, hopelessly.
Maybe with less trapped memories,
Or maybe with less piled up invective,
Or perhaps an easy exit strategy,
My thought's might escape unharmed.
In reality my mind is a prison.
Instead they force past the sharp edges,
Escaping cut up, damaged, and deficient.
When the bad stuff decides it wants out too,
Acid rises in my throat as I relive violence,
That comforts me and poisons me just like home.
Once it escapes I cant forget, it just repeats.
Traumatic memories get comfortable,
Like an unwanted spider in the ceiling corner.
They kick up their feet, and enjoy the fog.
It's not just a memory, my visions all cloudy.
My stomach is churning, my head is hurting.
My limbs are numb, my brain is bumd.
Whenever you yell, my brain shuts down.
Cant even spell, I'm the prisoner now.