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Jasmine dryer Dec 2018
oh its you
well welcome back i guess
i see that your actually willing to put my sanity to the test
well before you start
you should know this job will be a whole mess
my name?
well you just get straight to it!
call me
what you think i am
however you would wish to personify me
sit down over on that chair
its understandable if your scared
but you must be built for this stuff aren't you?
not many people can walk into a psychopath room,
i mean from what i assume
well don't just sit there!
show me a chart
ask us a question
oh? i'm sorry i meant me
ask me a question
or leave to my padded cell
because unless your going to help
might as well let the voices drag me down to ****
i'm exploring with a more narrative series
Jasmine dryer Dec 2018
she had a chance to make us sane
to bad little sally ran away
but its ok
its ok

its not like our minds are falling a
the longer and longer
the doctors make us stare at the
c h a r t
but were smart
the only problem
is that we don't know where to start

we wait for sally
to make us sane
to bad little sally
has ran away

our rooms are soft
sally said like clouds
padded softly
for when the voices get loud

little sally
why so blue?
miss sally
what did we do to you

she had we chance to make us sane
to bad miss sally
has ran away
you listen to what passes for the TV news
you read some
but not all
of social media views
you notice that
despite all internationalism
it‘s mostly old sensationalism
combined with more or less suggestive speculations about
how many people may have died in forest fires
to what imaginable depths the president aspires
whether the North Koreans have more rockets
     despite the wonderful achievements
     of the national superdealer
who of the leader‘s staff might be the next
      to lose her job or his credentials
etc. etc.

in short
the world has mostly shrunk
to domestic politics and power games
plus a few places on the globe where
U.S. soldiers still are dying
     in order to protect their country‘s interests
     in oil, assorted mineral resources
     or allies of political expedience
or a few thousand refugees from countries plagued
      by persecution or dictators are
      marching for weeks to claim asylum
           in the home of the brave and the free
           under the statue of liberty
     only to discover that they are seen
     as an invasion threatening
            that blesséd city upon a hill

visions have grown smaller
more petty voices dominate the talk

a nation made of immigrants
faced with the poor who flee from their oppressors
decides to close its borders to the immigrants‘ next wave
oblivious of the times when they themselves
still searching for a better life
found a new place where they felt safe
led by the statue‘s torch that shone its light
upon a poet‘s words of welcome:

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
The last stanza is a quote from the poem „The New Colossus“ by Emma Lazarus, written in 1883. - For more information, check
Welcome to my mind, my sanctuary, my prison,

you'll meet a thousand "Me" and you won't be glad to meet 'em...

Come over here look at the perfect "me", he hasn't misbehaved thus he's enjoying in a garden of eden...

Let me show you the "me" who lives in past, he was wounded bad and those wounds are his museum...

Now gaze past that museum, you'll see two shadows, brawling in their self made colosseum...

Follow me I'll show you my dungeon, where I've chained the "me" who had become a "DEMON"...

There's also prison above that dungeon where I torture the "me" who had done treason

He was too kind for his own good that's the only reason why I beat 'em

There's also a place filled with graves of fallen "me" who'll never wake and i call that place a broken mausoleum...

Now you may wonder how we run this kingdom, We elect the one with the most income...

But Pity the "me" who attemted to be free, when he's the one who lost that freedom;

This is no longer his sanctuary, he's no longer the king of this kingdom...
How can you even escape from yourself?
Jon Thenes Oct 2018
I retain, fixed
a point
until corroded by metological formula
and practical social delinquency

Weather me down
til I am camera
and pinhole

Pure and abyss-less
lights vehicle
                         - forget me not
I self plagiarised a little in this... Such is life.
          I am
Furious soul.

             with You,
I Mayhem.
Troy Sep 2018
The Voices the Voices
They won't shut up
Screaming and shouting
Banging on the walls

Distortion of vision
Clouded with racing thoughts
Blurry eyed he walks
Straight into a trap

He starts to shout
Everything the voices say
To which some are good
But others are truly insane

Hammer down inside his head
For when the voices awake
Terror fills his heart
Gnawing at any shred of hope

Though when the voices are silent
Calm waves flow gently
In the mind of whom
Is slightly crazy
Okay I have a confession to make. I am diagnosed with DID, Dissociative identity disorder. I have about 7 or 8 different personalities, or Alters if you will, and they help me write the poems that I bring you.
I hope you all enjoy our words of magical mystery.
Terry Collett Sep 2018
As the night nurse
let me into the ward
the noise hit me
like something
from ****.

He closed the door
behind me
and I wandered
further into the ward.

A group
of the mentally insane
surrounded me
wanting to shake my hand
to touch me
yelling various greetings
as I walk past them
to the nurse's office.

The male nurse
gruffly told them
to shove off
and they disbursed
out of sight.

Got to keep them
in order
he said
gathering his things.

As long as you
are here I can go
he said.

He left and the door
shut behind him.

One by one
the patients came
to the door and stared
and smiled
or grinned weirdly.

I spoke to them
and walked around the ward
one or two followed me
down the passageway
as I walked past dormitories
with unmade beds
and the smell of *****
and bodies.

One of the patients
touched my sleeve

We make the beds
he said
me and Gough.

He followed me
back to the ward
muttering news
of this and that
and in his eyes
saw emptiness
and vacant spaces
and sighed seeing
that in many
of their faces.
Joshua Michael Aug 2018
I’m sorry I’m sorry
I said, Stepping in
The mental hospital
I’m not right in the head

I’ve been constantly slicing
Cutting through skin
To escape myself
To survive my ****

I wish to see your face
when they finally let me free.
I wish you would write
or call me just once

But for now, just visions of you
While I’m drowning
In my own crimson blood
Searching for the key
To this mental prison

The nurse walks away
After haven given
Me some medication
Something to calm me

The straight jacket now
Holding me firm
They put me down
I Sit there an empty stare
They filled me up with drugs
keeping my head in narcotic haze.
Pill after pill all day, every day
I am broken and defeated

Sitting here in a mental home.
Its been a few days inside now, i'm finally allowed some time to write and use the computer. Its cold in here, its lonely and they are constantly watching The screams at night are the worst.
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