Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
the old priest shuffles
slowly
between
pages of crusty memoirs
in the silence of the temple
he has forgotten how to speak
I want to scoop up and hug
all sad and broken souls
hold them, wiping tears
together, floating away
kindred spirits
do not be unkind
to yourself
There is only one voice
within, two ears-
Be kind.
what are you telling yourself when you talk to yourself? love yourself.
blue notes
blue smoke
conversations, ****!
no solid occupation
dreams shatter, wither within
do birds sing at night?
I wonder-
as I listen to the cackle
of birds in flight
the choir grows with the barks of dogs,
the rumble of cars, the fusion of bogs
Inspired by the happy night sounds outside my window as I write every night.
Dealing with OCD
is like losing your mind,
You can be in a room
full of people, yet all alone,
Noone can ever know
when the horrible thoughts
will come and what they will be
you just feel a buzz, a hum, a drone
in your head and you try to block it out
but like Sony Xperia apps
running in the background,
they are there, infernal
consuming the bandwidth of your soul
there is a fine line between delusion and sanity
a clutching at straws, a search for help
pleas and pleas fall not on deaf ears
but endure it you must
until it runs its course
tunnelling on, pushing you to the edge
straddling the fine line buoying
bobbing, dancing, fleeting-
drowning you in its wake as you gasp and gasp
OCD is horrible and misunderstood
why it hit me, I know not-
when it came part of me, I never agreed
I just woke up arrested, paralysed
by the most unutterable thoughts...
I suspect it happened when I met
the thin woman with the one eye-
I have known no peace since then
Paranormal paranoia rules my brain
and I am mooted, glued in the vile filth
of guilt, shame, anger, helplessness-
like a generator running on fuel,
incessant the tyres do not stop burning
alone, sometimes, I ask myself
why? why me Lord?
the cup is too heavy for me to bear
and ghouls have made my mind
an open playing field and I cant break free
at times I wake up and its gone
I smile and dress up-
try to think normally, eat and sleep
but itchy insomnia rages on my skin
beads of sweat and shaking, my mouth is dry
I am afraid, frightened and I cower
OCD is crunching my life, slowly
and sadly noone knows...they just dont know
why I say 'off' things sometimes
they suppose its the preoccupation
of a busy mind, and busy I am
wallowing, silently, stewing in the prison
it seems there is no escaping this
Inspired by a true story
they lived at the edge of the sea,
they made music with pebbles
and shadows shifted,
slowly, badly calloused,
they picked their way through

          the throng
          ****** along
          pressed along

but they were not afraid
the wind billowed and raged
the sea churned violently
washing them, away it, hoped
but they remain rooted. mute

           the throng
           ****** along
           pressed along

silent statuettes, brave, unshaken
still alive by the edge of the sea
lights dance on the sea now, night
the glows, soldiers lost at sea
watching over them
scurry happily on the pebbles
***Inspired by deep personal tragedy***
lustrous sky
framed by my window
master brush-strokes
Sun kisses Cloud
why are you here?
what do you want?
an old lover, a call
dare I breathe?
Next page