Water crashes.
Rumbles and echoes on the rocks.
Cool mist fills the air.
Above, a river falls off a cliff,
while below, it falls off another.
A bridge beneath my feet.
Green plants.
People taking pictures.
A wooden lodge for dining,
with a gift shop.
The hum of a freeway.
A river with barges.
The sound of a train.
The wild meets man,
at the waterfall.

I found a valley dark and red with blood.
Emotions bound inside released, a flood.

An intense craving for physical pain.
Is this the sign of someone who’s insane?

I’d drag a serrated edge on my skin.
Not resisting, I let the darkness in.

And afterwards I couldn’t get it out.
Reeling inside I’d scream and cry and shout.

It kept going, till it overtook me,
and it wasn’t going to let me be.

What scared me the most was wanting to stay,
and dwell in the darkness every day.

So then I felt like I had popped my top.
Truthfully, I didn’t want it to stop.

The pain had a way to make me alive,
but if I continued I’d not survive.

If I did more, and it was still going,
the scars on my legs would keep on growing.

Finally I was able to end it.
Others helping me get out of the pit.

It’s an ongoing and a constant fight.
Resisting the cravings every night.

So this poem I made for those of you,
who are like me, fighting this demon too.

You are not alone. It may feel that way.
If you’re suffering, don’t be scared to say.

A quiet snow lined roadway.
A bird singing on a telephone line.
Footprints in the snow.
A path I’ve not walked.
Around another bend.
The song drifts off,
and a rabbit bounces its way.
The trees have icicles.
Now the world is cloaked in quiet,
but for the crunch of my boots,
and breathing.
Heavy breathing from the cold.
A few more bends.
Back to what I know.
Just a little longer,
till fire welcomes me.

The knife draws across the skin,
the pain blocks pain from deep within.
Endorphin’s rush into the brain,
am I crazy? Am I insane?

An addiction forms and I know,
there’s no good place for this to go.
But how to stop when my soul hurts so,
I try to grasp I try to grow.

Loved ones help,
and form a shield,
for certain moments,
I am healed.

But the truth, the desire still persists,
the fight goes on, my brain insists.
This demon may fight me, scar me and shake me,
but I swear by god he will never break me.

Steady thumping, thumping.
The boat travels downstream.
The water is brown, from silt.
The current is swift but calm.
Trees line the edges of the river.
Green foliage, thick on both sides.
The sky is blue with white clouds.
A bridge passes overhead, with cars.
Downriver, a large load is being pushed,
to the locks in the dam up ahead.
The water is deep now and dark.
An eagle cries out, and lets fly.
I bring the small vessel to a stop,
and watch all around me.
A train on the side of the water,
the barge moving away,
trucks on a freeway above,
the hum of shipping goods,
and the beauty of nature in one.
Tranquility, and constant motion.
I slowly begin to turn around,
and begin the steady trek,
upriver to where I began.

He pulled the trigger and it was done.
Relief from remorse, there would be none.
Nothing he could do to make this right.
Never would he sleep another night.

He had been wronged, and that part was true.
It didn’t excuse it. He’d wronged too.
Fleeing the scene, he had run to hide.
**** him, and **** all his foolish pride.

He knew inside it would do no good.
His feet took him deep into the wood.
Waiting, thinking that was someone’s son.
If he could go back. Not buy the gun.

When they brought in the dog, he was caught.
His greatest sin, and it was for not.
Now he spends his days inside a cage.
He’s racked with guilt, and ravaged by rage.

Well aware that it’s what he deserves.
The greater punishment is his nerves.
Shame takes over, he’ll never be loose.
Late one night, his own hands tie the noose.

When the wild wind blows which way will I go?
Will it be north or south? East or west?
Or will I simply stay in place.
Whichever way I go,
I’ll continue to grow,
I’ll learn from my mistakes,
and I’ll prepare for the day,
when the wild wind takes me away.

There’s a desire to cut.
A despair about death.
The frustration of life.
World full of strife.

So I write something down.
Some pretty words.
And I hope it matters.
But it doesn’t, and everything shatters.

There’s no point to this.
Or maybe there is.
Hope comes first.
I’m going to burst.

Being mentally ill is hard.
Too ******* hard.
I’ll be okay.
But I feel it today.

I’d be a fool,
to think I could do,
better than you,
it’s true.

My wife,
my light,
my day,
and my night.

You’ve been there,
through thick and thin,
you stayed by me,
when I let the dark in.

You saw the person,
behind the frown.
Without you my world,
is upside down.

I’m sorry I’ve been distant,
my sweetest sweetheart.
I was falling.
My world was falling apart.

I pushed you away,
but you stayed by my side.
You found me,
when I tried to hide.

I haven’t been,
the man you deserve.
The man who worships,
every curve.

I’m going to do better,
forever for you.
I’ll love you each day,
like it’s brand new.

My beautiful, wonderful,
supportive wife,
life without you,
is no life.

I crave her caress.
Desire her love.

She is perfection in the flesh.
An angel made human.

She makes me want to be better.
Makes me want to change.

Her touch makes me shiver.
While her smile warms my soul.

My heart picks up,
when she looks my way.

I could get lost in her eyes.
Every single day.

Over and over again.
I’ll love her till the end of time.

This beautiful woman,
who will never be mine.

The ten men were doomed to die.
They marched the ***** to the gate on high.
As they entered the arena, the sun shone bright.
For each of them it would be their last light.

The crowd booed at the villains of this bout.
They had not a warrior to tout.
Across from them, another gate.
So this would be their fate.

As it rose, a chariot came,
Two men riding in the unfair game.
Clad in armor and wielding bows.
Then three of the dead men rose.

Cut down in a flash,
their blood did splash.
Seven left as the chariot rounded the bend,
it was coming to rampage and rend.

It barreled through them, arrows flying,
more and more men dying.
Another round and three did remain.
The chariot was their bane.

Then it stopped, the two jumped off,
The larger let out a cough.
They charged at the three, one who was hurt,
His was the first blood to soil the dirt.

Two on two, the fight began fast,
the dead men’s blades were easy to get past.
They fought their best,
but the two soul’s found rest.

Blood all over the ground,
down the fight wound,
and the audience saw no plight,
as they cheered their champions all that night.

The withered trees cling to life.
Some will die, while others live.
The forest was burned, scarred,
with marks visible for miles around.
Now she must regrow.
Green shrubs and grasses poke up from ashy ground.
Sections of wood are full of life.
Others carry the stench of death.
In time it will be forgotten.
The forest will be mighty.
But then, someday,
the world will burn again.

Angst gnaws at me,
but it drives me to create.
To try and share a beauty I see in words.
Then the doubt tries to tear it down.
Does anyone out there care?
Or am I wasting my time?
Is my vision in your mind?
Or am I screaming into the hurricane?
Questions burning inside.
Will the storm destroy me?
Or can I conquer the storm?
So much noise and chaos and carnage.
The world is overwhelming.
Yet I want to be more.
To make scenes and inspire.
I write and write and write again.
It helps to get the feelings out.
The feelings of doubt, of shame,
of never being good enough.
It helps me to create.
To make something I can see.
The beauty in these lines.
Do you see it as well?
Or is it just more wind?
This poetry of mine,
an attempt to express,
so many things that can’t be put into words.
I don’t know you but I want you to see me.
To see the music that I see.
So I try to write,
and I hope that someone cares.
I don’t know you but I love you.
I hope you will love me too.
Constantly seeking the approval of my peers,
hoping it will make me feel complete,
when I know that it will not.
The struggle I face is inside me.
Yet I still hope you will like my music,
even when it’s sad.
It’s how I reach out to the world.
My small contribution,
to making this a better place.
Trying to turn the storm,
into beautiful music instead.
That’s why as long as I live,
you’ll find me screaming,
into the hurricane.

Where did my home go?
I cannot find it anywhere.

This is the wrong universe for me.
I don’t like what I see.

Violence and chaos,
fighting and war.

When we live in a land of plenty.

The rich get richer,
the poor stay poor.

Homelessness, poverty,
these things don’t make sense,
when modern life should be easy.

Instead we squabble,
like children,
over every little thing.

Nothing gets done,
to the detriment of everyone.

I hope one day I can go home,
to the land I used to know,
where people were treated with respect.

But I fear that place is lost to time,
and will only again exist in memory.

My flesh will tell you a story,
of a man filled with self loathing.
Deep scars across my legs,
for never being good enough.

My own self mutilation.
No one to blame but me.
Still, much as I love my scars,
I wish no one else could see.

For they cause pain and problems.
Even doctors rush to judge.
“This person is not sick,
he’s just crazy.”

I am not crazy, just in pain.
It’s a deep horrible misery,
just inside my brain,
and it never goes away.

But for drugs and the knife,
it’s a struggle to get through life.
Yet I learn to be stronger,
every single day.

Medicines and therapy.
A whole team to make me well.
They’ve shown me what I can do,
when I put my mind to it.

Now it’s been months,
since I held the knife.
Bit by bit, day by day,
I’ve been taking back my life.