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Brad post Oct 24
Staring at the ceiling,
what the **** is this feeling?
I can’t make up my mind,
of what’s real and what’s fake.

If I’m not dreaming,
then who is that screaming?
No one seems to hear it,
so that’s a mistake.

In front of the mirror,
and all I see is me,
but the me that I see,
is not who he seems to be.

Something’s not right,
in the little details,
in the colors and smells,
this is not re-al-i-ty.

I can see movement,
in the corner of my eyes,
something alive,
that’s not there when I look.

It’s like I’m in between worlds,
where time doesn’t exist,
the soundless abyss,
being dragged down by a hook.

This detox is different,
something is wrong,
I knew all along,
but that brings no relief.

This panic, is manic,
now I’m feeling frantic,
how can a person,
forget to breathe?

It’s feels like the weight,
on my shoulders has lifted,
but it’s only shifted,
and been placed on my chest.

My mind has grown muddy,
and I got nothing left,
fighting and struggling,
for every breath.

Clutching at myself,
as the tremors start.
Is it my heart?
Bring in the crash cart.

I hear someone say,
“place this under your tongue,
let it dissolve and don’t chew”,
but my tongue has gone numb.

I watch the walls bend,
and then I start to scream.
I’d like to believe it’s a dream,
but I’m not that dumb.

I can hear ambulance sirens,
so distant, and close,
but I’ve gone morose,
all I feel is the pain.

Houston, are you there?
All connections are down,
I can’t hear a sound,
I think I’ve gone insane.
The imagination is evidently pure; its here --
The ascent of ideas and valiant colours, and hysterics
In matrimony- on this delirious evening mood
(But he needs more paper to write)

We are familiar with The Great what's-his-name?
Ah - The Bard, out of the reserved shadows he would abrupt,
Create scenes of quiet saints turned to garrulous beings
(But he needs more paper to write)

On his tattered paper, he would write of idle witches, comedies, tragedies, of
The insanity of Love, the flaws of princes, fools, knights,  daughters, servant boys,
His work resembles that of festival with black and blue harlequins
(But he needs more paper to write)

The pity for Jesters, Twice as bloomed as the audience laughs at him!
What pessimism, what insanity, caused such a twist in this plot? they say
To understand the agony of the human spirit, where he writes inexhaustibly
(But he needs more paper to write)...



                                                    ­      
A H Butler Jul 19
The urge to do nothing is overwhelming,
compelling.

I am motionless
I find myself halted.
Based upon a worry
a waiting
dominated by uncertainty.

I cannot go on
I stretch the mind
wander
wonder of antidotes
remedies delicious
in the knowledge
of their reduced life
span.
But not a cure.

Openings brighten despite me,
the ephemera of the street untouched,
lilting on its arbor
in its impetuous parade.

​(I think)
I should not allow myself this dysania
in the spaces between moments,
lapses into stillness unforeseen.

In the warm response of wire
I ask for forgiveness.
Trapped in my own gaze,
it’s all I have.
(the purity of sorrow)
The floor pushes me skyward,

I run my finger’s tip around the edge of the afternoon,
Hope to *** it rings out in response.
© A H Butler
Maida Rasool Jul 19
what are you going to do when your body's lowered?
alone in the dark with only your past.
blurred vision
drowning in delirium
what are you going to do when your body's ready to decay?
you really thought you were here to stay
what difference to the world have you really made
think again my friend
because it could all change
today actually just might be your day
Lady Ace Jun 14
Pensive and delirious,
I ****** my whiskered chins.
Though I want to suppress them,
I can't help but smile.
They're mine, mine, mine.
Abigail Hobbs Apr 21
In my dreams
you appear
we've still got time
In my dreams
in this distraught state of mind
In my dreams
we appear
In this aching head of mine
In my dreams
you're still here
in this torn heart of mine
In my dreams
in this endless loop of mine
in my dreams.
Willow shade Apr 13
As you restricted the flood of senses in my soul
and slammed the last window
where the light entered my world,
I became the ***** of my rampageous rage,
tasting a bit chagrin and a bit revenge.
Could you feel my silent bleeding
in this ****** and blackened silence?
Which was violently leading me
to non-compliance?
You slipped away from my dismal and absurd destiny at once
as the brightest and sibylline star.
I wish you were something else,
either a compelling dream or a lucky talisman
however what to do so far,
the most dangerous you are -
a femme fatale - benevolent, nice woman...
You sparkled in the mass
like gold is distinguished from all other elements.
You can run away,
but anyway your spirit complements
my dark futilities forever.
Even from afar I can feel your laughter,
like an instant thunderstorm lightning upon my head
and leading me to the madness
with the conversations inside my brain:
'- Believe me...
- Leave me...
- Trust me...
Get me...
Please...
- Forget me...
- Keep me...
Keep me...
Keep me!
- You hurt me!
- Forgive me...
Just roughly try me!
Yet you are my essence which cannot be evaded
neither by you nor by me...'
I remember everything even with my awful memory...
It was autumn,
Leaves were falling like my last esperances,
but then and in that small room
blossomed the trees of life with your laughter
shattering all the gloom and after,
the whole ruins of my existence
were covered with colorful flowers
and turned into a scenic place...
I will water that meadow
which you brought to me as an early spring
and I will keep it evergreen.
Now you are in my pale palms,
like my broken, foolish fate
as near as you have never been.
I see the clouds and storms approaching,
The fiction of destiny is completely plain
My sketchy anger and self-destruction  
are crying and calling again,
I am falling again
and I have to cling to!
Have to cling!
Have to!
Keep me...
Keep me...
Keep me...
You are in my pale palms,
You are in my palms,
So, nothing can hurt me,
Nothing can hurt me!
Nothing!
another meal missed
and starving for the art
but it gives back
so much more than
a steak and lobster
dinner could ever offer

the ability to lose control
of ones mind and let
complete liberation
of madness take over
while rationality and
normality behavior
will refuse to never
fully understand
it’s lunacy,

delirium to open your
eyes and mind to see
the beauty in artistry
that an inept society
could never distinguish
through the spyglass
of discerning aptitude,

don’t worry about what’s
in your bank account
or what’s on tv
or how much gas
is in your car
or being on time
for your kids
soccer practice
or what’s on the
agenda in your
eventful calendar,
or being too busy
executing your plans
of insignificance

submerge
yourself
in a sea of
loneliness

go crazy
every once
in a while

and perceive
the world as
the world
perceives
you and find
out how lifeless
humanity
really is

then create the art
YH Sep 2017
Sure, it may be like death;
this agonizing, vicious pain.
But you can decide to end it in two particular ways;
either you allow the torment to destroy you merciless,
or shape you into a person deadlier than before.

There is a probability where you might succumb to madness,
but that is something inevitable.
Does it matter?
Madness favors you by casting a shadow over your own vulnerability.

Something more than you can ever ask for.

— Y.H.

delirium,
gentle fervor.
exploit your sufferings.

(c) Y.H.
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