Its the feeling you get when your mind is a war zone, a warped home where grimmy thoughts roam, with no guidance or support zone, your so frightened to fight it on your own. More poems of suicide and self harm, you ever dreamt you died and felt calm? Just a truant mind with health crimes, help cant cure a ruined life in Hell's palms. You fell in to a ditch and because of it popping bottles of pills that you mixing your ***** with, then nodding off a bit picturing god and all of it, a doctors on the phone telling you to ***** it. Consistently monitored, the alcohol, the quiting , the six, seven seizures, its the moment a schizophrenic freezes, hearing a voice that whispers when it pleases, the vigilant bulimic, the obsessive and compulsive,the bipolar mood swing and stomach ulcers. Its the hidden issues that the medicine alters. Its the judgmental that the depression repulses ,the anxiety, the psychs with the notes, the post traumatic stress and the vices to cope. The prices of dope,the ice in the pipe that you smoke. The knife the rope, the temptation of slicing your throat. Its the stigma determined to scare you, when the bourbon your served is your urgent repairer. When not feeling nervous becomes rarer and your mom quits  her job to become your permanent carer. Its the psychotic episodes, the days that you lost seeking help, but being crazy isn't something I am ashamed to admit, so stay strong anybody who relates to this, please.

Dear self
Forgive Me
For the times I hurt you with my words
That pierced through you like swords
Reducing your worth
Saying things that you are not

For the times I've made you cry
When all you did was try
The tears you cried formed a sea
Now I'm drowning as you can see

For the times I pushed you farther
While trying to be like another
Now I'm taking the walk of shame
Calling out your name
Asking That you forgive me

Children of today,
will never know what it is like to use a pay phone,
as one tries to find a quarter.

Kids today,
shall never know what it is like to embrace the mystery
of who is at the other end of a call.

Children of today,
will never know what it is like to get ones anger out
with a slam of the phone instead of pushing a button.

Kids today,
will never know what its like to not text
and have to call someone when they get home.

Children of today,
will never know what it is like to drive with paper directions
as one juggles to read their own writing.

Kids of today,
will never yes never know what it is like to savor a real hug or kiss
from a friend instead of a emoji.

Children of today,
will never know what it’s like to look eye to eye
and talk to family members at restaurant
instead of looking at phone to keep busy.

Sadly,  thats progress, until we wake up and smell the coffee.


StarBG © 2017

Socrates consumed Hemlock,
Cleopatra embraced the Asp,
Alan Turing ate an apple laced with cyanide,
I, like those before me,
Have picked my poison;
An absinthe-eyed, quicksilver-tongued boy.
He was unsettled when I answered with the truth of his query,
Yes, he is poison,
I knowingly and willingly consume every drop of him,
Not all toxicity is solely adverse,
Radiation treats cancer,
Venom in low doses is an antidote,
Ethanol relaxes muscle and numbs the emotions.
He is my poison and my antidote,
He is the corrosive acid that dissolves gear-stopping rust,
I, in kind, am the poison apple of his eye,
Or so he says,
And so, we two, bask in the destruction of ourselves,
Consuming each other's pain, insecurity, madness, and lust,
Why is it that he, a poison, is the one I trust?