Sometimes the heart is just wrong
Dead wrong
Listen to something else

i once had a teacher say to the class "use this free time to space out"
and i couldn't help but laugh and wonder
the dangers of that activity once i ventured into the depths of my mind.
see, a good idea that was not for me.
i've spent enough countless moments and wasted time in my own head to memorise how skipping away into it went.
you do not skip, first off; a tightening rope bounds your legs and demands you to stumble into an endless pit.
rain plummets like bombs upon your unfeeling grey skin,
and a dark shadow's sharp nails dig into your chest
and leave a gaping hole, unwilling to be fulfilled.
your throat closes like the door behind you, so there's not escape,
no screams ready to echo off your prison cells walls,
no hands steady enough to reach out for an exit,
just the blind mistake of opening up a trapdoor,
like an alleyway where you live in fear of each corner you turn into,
and falling into the arms of laughing silhouettes of embodied tears,
whispering lies of how you'll be safe with them,
dimming the light and muting all sounds until
only your thoughts can keep you company,
burning static and fuzzy against your aching brain,
and handing you the long list of reasons
why a smile shouldn't be on your face.
so teacher, may i laugh again at the suggestion,
and shake my head in disagreement,
because believe me,
i do not want to live through that
again.

Very, very often
people compare mental
illness to a
monster. Big, parasitic,
and life-stealing.
I wouldn't not
use this comparison
myself. Because, anxiety...

Its teeth are
cracking my bones,
peeling my skin,
closing my eyes
to the rationalities
of this beautiful,
beautiful world. I
am not, me.  
My thoughts are
destructive hurricanes to
my own mind.
They dig deeper
each time, into
tiny spaces of
my brain, my
soul, and heart.
It's a dark
reality, with supposed
reasoning... but no,
it's a parasite,
growing inside my
head. I try
to think I
am good, but
all it says
is 'you are
bad'. I try
to think, they
like me, but
'I am unlikable,
unlovable,' in the
face of this
Earth. How can
you greet a
thing that lives
with you everyday,
let alone, how
can you say
goodbye to it.

When the late-day sun
sent a shaft of light
through my old screen door,
I saw the places
where the paint has peeled
(such felicitous light green paint!)
and the eye-hook latch
shows signs of rusting.

I changed the screen
not long ago,
yet three rough holes
disrupt its hazy plane
like insects in a web.

Outside, the autumn air
troubles the tired green
canopies of elms and oaks.

Summer lingers in little ways:
The blue cotton rug
inside our threshold
sits warm beneath a
slanting square of sun;
the lawn outside is dry
for want of watering.

Soon the breeze grows cool,
and when I go to
shut the door I see
a single strand of  gold
the wind has found to tease,
held fast for the moment
by the ragged screen.

You left today,
and now I feel
the autumn’s chill
more deeply in my bones.

Ah, to be an ostrich!
I'd bury my head in the sand.
I could remain oblivious
To what was going on in this land.
I'd hide from gnawing hunger
That showed on children’s faces,
And my total lack of involvement
Would leave no guilty traces.
 
Ah, to be a bear!
I’d hibernate in my cave
And wouldn’t worry about
Those whom I couldn’t save.
The lost and disenfranchised
Could struggle on their own,
While I stayed safe and sound
And slumbered all alone.
 
Ah, to be a turtle!
I would hide in my shell,
Ignoring world injustice
And abuses here as well.
When the power-grabbing wealthy
Tromped on the rights of the poor,
From such wrongdoing I’d hide
Behind my keratin door.
 
Ah, to be an eagle!
I'd soar across the sky.
Removed from worldly problems,
I’d never have to ask why
So many people **** others
Because of ideals so absurd.
I could maintain my distance.
How lucky to be a bird!
 
But being an ostrich is awkward
For people tend to stare
When your head's under the ground
And your **** sticks up in the air.
Being a bear can be hard,
For a cave can be damp and cold,
And not to mention lonely:
I guess that would get very old.
And about being a turtle—
And this is the honest scoop—
Your chances are very good
That you’ll end up in soup.
Finally, on being an eagle:
Though flying brings you great mirth
And you love high altitudes,
You still must come down to earth.

- by Bob B

"I don't know how to write
I don't know what to say anymore
I feel so empty
I no longer have a soul
Void of any light
You could say its like its nighttime inside my soul
Only difference is theres no stars or moon
To represent better times to come soon
Maybe things would've turned out differently if I tried
Tried to be better than what I am now
A loathsome and troublesome presence
So bothersome at times
I thought......I would get better
Forget this
I told you I can't write
Come to think of it.....
I was never able to do anything right."

There's no description of a lovely or dark paradise within his soul
He won't describe himself as lost and alone
Trapped in some 'dark void' or how he loves someone to the bone
All he can say is what he feels which really isn't much...
So  tell me
How to describe what you feel...
when there's nothing left to feel anymore