Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
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?
neth jones Oct 2018
I retain, fixed
unworldly
cashed-in
a point
until corroded by metological formula
and practical social delinquency

Weather me down
til I am camera
projector
and pinhole

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

Outside
             with You,
I Mayhem.
Cerasium 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.
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 hell

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
Tearing
       Splitting
            Ripping
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

Paralyzed
Broken
Alone
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.
K Balachandran Jul 2018
a refugee cloud,
sought asylum on a tree;
driven far, dissolved!
stargazer May 2018
I am trapped in a straitjacket
Unable to move
I may as well be in a casket

Trying to remember how I got here
Everything is so unclear
I am blindfolded and everything starts to disappear

Out of control
Out of my mind
Out of a soul

I fight against the sleeves
Thrashing, resisting
Trying so hard to leave

Doctors whispering reassuringly
But the words don't reach me
No matter how kindly

In an asylum you don't pay rent
Because you are a slave against your will
Held there just for thinking something different

Not a single letter
No one wants to talk to the insane
No one even thinks you'll ever get better

Then you lose hope in your own recovery
No one else believes it, why should you?
You forget what it is to even be free.

Alone
Forgotten
Unknown

This straitjacket gets no easier to bear
I pull and pull
But it gets no better to wear
Next page