You always told me that you loved Christmas;
You told me you couldn’t wait for the air to grow cold
And for snow to cover the ground and coat buildings like the sugar on frosted flakes
So this morning, I found myself crying into my cereal as I watched the sugar melt away and dissolve into a sticky mush at the bottom of my bowl

When I was a child my mother taught  like a dry wipe pen on a board of melamine
Nothing is permanent
But she never warned me
That not all pens can be rubbed off white boards
She didn’t teach me that no matter how much you scrub
There is always a stain on the board that can’t be removed
A black smudge that is permanently etched onto the white surface
She left out the part where someone would leave a black smudge on my life
That can be written over, but never be unseen
It took me a while to figure out,
The only thing permanent in life, are the memories that I am stained with.

Buildings full of people,
Empty people,
These classrooms wear memories upon the tables,
So meticulously cleaned and polished
You could almost overlook the fact that every single chair
Wears scuff marks
And that the corridors have invisible stretchmark’s tattooed into the untarnished paintwork
Caused by thousands of weary souls which once wandered the halls
The carpets are new, and the concrete floors polished
But can we really overlook the hours of hair pulling and escaped tears that these very walls caused?
What a stupid question
How else will we become a success?

I am sprinting from
An ungodly notion
Vigorously contemplating
A lethal emotion

My visual mirages
That the illness devours
Making it dominant
Giving it power

My mind fails me
And the devil enters
Inexorable possession
In my perception centres

MY BRAIN CONTAINS DEMONS
And the doctors DISTRUST them?
But they should KNOW that THIS. ISN’T. MY. FAULT
******* TRAGIC LABYRINTH,
…..on my decrepit brain stem

The only thing I can see through the darkness is outlines of shapes in the shade and wonder if that is all I am

I stay in the middle of the road curled up and listening to those consistent whispers.

I feel like they are never going to shut up, never going to be silent.

The monsters are restless and overpowering.

A loud moan of delusion comes crashing down on my mind.

I feel that it’s trying to get inside and take me away.

Maybe it already has?

I’m utterly alone in confining myself to this insecure life.

I’m in desolation that has insanity scrawled inside it.

But there’s no where else to write.

Craving insistently for this torture to be over.

I’m daring the devil to fight,

But he doesn’t.

My ears catch every voice that whispers, yet I can’t understand anything that they say.

I stay curled in my fragile state, wishing for a car to come down the lane in which I lay.

There’s no building that is not surrounded by the pitch black darkness of the night.

There’s no opening of sanity to show my mind the way.

There’s no escape, only the pain of which brings reality into my personal norm.

I have nothing else to do but lie and wait.

Quietly rocking in the road, waiting for darkness to fade into the white light of death.

Trying to contain my inverse reality in silence.

I must simply wait…..In hopes that maybe one day the darkness will feel like home.

If I die before I wake, throw my corpse into the lake,
Because I did not die in sleep, I died in peace.
Life is a constant intrusion of pain into my slumber, and waking up is a daily encumber,
But perhaps waking is not as simple as it seems.
Is waking meant in a way of ceasing to sleep, or ceasing to live, not weep?
Either way, I am stuck in a abyss of not being woken.
So yes, I shall die before I wake, because my life isn’t what death would take,
Because I promise I’m already dead to begin with

I remember in 2011, when I finally accepted I was crazy.
Like I had been crazy long before that, but it was not until that December that I realised.
When you’re insane, you do not realise.
I thought for years that I was special, that I understood things that nobody else did
But I realise now that I didn’t understand anything
Not even myself.
It’s easier now, not better but easier. Because I’ve finally accepted that I am ******* crazy
And that is the first step to avoid strait jackets