Shrouded dark as desperate night I hide.
Spiralling. Spiralling like the ever flowing tide.
Unsure, unwavering. Pride is my downfall.
Copper masks and powered lead. I call
For sense and order, like conductor of the strings,
When chaos and disorder govern all things.
Minds beg for sense they can't explain
And in doing so drive their own insane.
Shaken, fearful. Acting brave.
But how much is left to save?
Like a ball of string, tied tight around
A sparking wire nest, and all unwound,
Like cloths that scissors tried to heal
But lost the thread, wounds never to seal.
Costing sense and order, life and day,
Night's taken all but the shattered sun away.
People ask who, no. What I am?
But to give an answer. I don't know if I even can.
Lost like a line without a hook,
I have a cover, but I'm no book.
Like everyone, read between the lines,
You'll see exactly what you'll find
Just as everybody else, a tired mind
Reside here, with what is left of human kind.

I took your hand and walked a sorry mile.
I wore my feet to sheds of skin and bone.
I held you gentle face within my grasp.
I whispered to you tales of great sorrow.
You held my hand and lead me through a forest.
You gave me shoes and cloth to bind my feet.
You smiled at my calloused skin against your face.
You laughed and joked and sang you were so merry.
I watched you like a flower spring to blossom.
I watched you bloom in summers gentle sway.
I watched when autumn came abounding.
I watched you slowly start to whither away.
But I could not watch the winter, who's grasp is icy cold.
I could not watch you slowly die inside.
I could not watch the wind blow your frail skin to dust.
So I hid and didn't look like seeing made it true.
When turning of the seasons brings life again anew.
I went outside a looking. A looking for you.
I think I saw you somewhere, a shadow in the wind.
A part of every creature, plant who's life again begins.

I'm smart, I tell myself as I fail another exam
I'm strong, I whisper as I collapse doing a push up
I'm beautiful, I say ******* my waist in as far as I can
I'm talented, I murmur as I try to play the piano

You're thick, they tell me as I stand and speak before an audience
You're weak, they whisper as I dance for three hours straight
You're ugly, they say as I shake petals from my flower filled hair
You're *******, they murmur as I draw a child with a boat

You're smart, I tell her as a brand new scar bleeds profusely
You're strong, I whisper as I stick it back together
You're beautiful, I say as it fades to white against her skin
You're talented, I murmur as she runs off again to play.

Is the wind the sigh of a traveller, weary?
Are clouds made of memories been?
Are raindrops the tears of a broken heart?
And is sunshine made purely of smiles?
Is the moon made up of a lover's first kiss?
Are stars hopes of every young child?
Does the river running wildly tell us to be free?
Do the mountains tell us to stay steady?
Are the birds swooping high calling your name?
Is the song of the whales the same?
Does you're mind sleep easy at three am?
And does your heart sing with a joyous fury?

Why has being messed up become cool?

Why is being sorted and stable such a crime?

Why can’t I feel sad without feeling bad in case someone with depression takes offence and tells me the pain I’m feeling isn’t true pain and that nothing can compare to the misery they feel so how dare I compare myself to them?

But I don’t compare myself to them. I compare myself to me.

I see children. Boys and girls of a mere thirteen comparing the scars on their arms because fashion told them that slicing their own skin would relieve the stress of keeping up with the fashion.

I see people all over the world creating illness to fit in. One week it’s a coma, the next a tumour. People dropping dead all over the place until they forget and suddenly they’re back online. If you ask them about it they spin some story about a miraculous recovery, or lying friend.

People boast about how they were bullied as a child and make up stories of abuse, and why?

Why has this become so commonplace?

Why do we have to compare the negative in our lives? Can’t we just be happy with our positives?

Why can’t I cry when I’m upset just because my parents are still happily married?

Just because I have less to cry about should not mean I shouldn’t be allowed to.

And if I do, it doesn’t mean I need a label.

I get sad, but I am not depressed.

I get nervous but I do not have an anxiety disorder.

I stand in front of the mirror and wish I saw someone slimmer standing before me, but I do not have an eating disorder.

So why am I made to feel like I should? Why do I feel like I should be broken? Why do I count the demons of my past and worry that if someone asks I will not have enough?

Something is wrong.

There are people with real issues. People who need help. People who spend every day sat in the shower, filling the bathtub with their own tears.

So take a step back, and look at what you have. Enjoy being happy, and don’t be scared to show it when you’re not. Reach a hand out to the people who can no longer see the sun through the clouds made by their evaporated tears. Cry with them but stop pretending you have it worse.

Mental illness is not a competition, and nor is happiness. We need to stop putting on a show.

And stop romanticizing pain.

Shrouded dark as desperate night I hide.
Spiralling. Spiralling like the ever flowing tide.
Unsure, unwavering. Pride is my downfall.
Copper masks and powered lead. I call
For sense and order, like conductor of the strings,
When chaos and disorder govern all things.
Minds beg for sense they can't explain
And in doing so drive their own insane.
Shaken, fearful. Acting brave.
But how much is left to save?
Like a ball of string, tied tight around
A sparking wire nest, and all unwound,
Like cloths that scissors tried to heal
But lost the thread, wounds never to seal.
Costing sense and order, life and day,
Night's taken all but the shattered sun away.
People ask who, no. What I am?
But to give an answer. I don't know if I even can.
Lost like a line without a hook,
I have a cover, but I'm no book.
Like everyone, read between the lines,
You'll see exactly what you'll find
Just as everybody else, a tired mind
Reside here, with what is left of human kind.

When the moon shines bright and lonesome

On the silent moors

Then my true love comes a visiting

Comes knocking at my door



She wears a dress of embers

And begs to let her in

But I know better than that

And tearfully I sing



She left me at the alter

She left me alone to dance

She left me living her dreams

She left without a chance



When the moon shines bright and lonesome

On the silent moors

Then my true love comes a visiting

Comes knocking at my door



I keep the door tight shut

The windows blocked and barred

I will not let that creature in

Though it leaves me scarred.



For she did not leave me truly

For her ghost still carries on

On nights when the moon shines brightly

You can hear her plaintive song



When the moon shines bright and lonesome

On the silent moors

Then my true love comes a visiting

Comes knocking at my door