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i hear your waltz, dear bird.

the soliloquy,

the melodies that pull at the strings holding what’s left
of my heart evermore.

i listen, to the shuffle of your ruffled feathers,
your light feet
dance to the creak of hardwood.

a sonical prison.
as this intrepid cell guard is
fueled by my schizophrenia,

and van gogh like delusions.

none of grandeur.

so here are my ears, one sliced from reality,
the other searching for its vibrations.

each majestic, and just as much
consequentially miserable, piano strike
marks a new set of steps for you.

and although i no longer feel,
nor see, i still hear exactly how you carry yourself.

and from that i draw insane conclusions.
from there, upon just listening,
i can imagine what your ****** expressions are like,
and from your laugh as you dwindle around this penitentiary
like a loose branch amongst gusts of wind

i can tell you’re free.

free to fly. free to feast.
free to find a new mate.
free to watch the world burn
from a bird's eye view.

just as we used to do.

free at last, most importantly from us,
more specifically from me.

and although i no longer

feel, nor see.

i still hear exactly how happy you are.

and that isn’t the most heart shattering aspect of our ordeal,

or should i say, my ordeal, to live with, alone.

because the part that really allows me to carefully and diligently pluck single strands of hair from my head as if i could somehow string out the memory of you out from my infinite depths,

is the fact that i can hear, clear as day,

another bird’s chirp,
another bird’s laugh,

another set of feet, on this waltz you’re on.

and when i say heart shattering,

i hope you hear it break, as the sounds of it
reverbs across this room’s vast loneliness.

oh, where are my van gohg like delusions now?

i’ll continue my search, since now i fully know that

you’re just gone. with the wind.

fly, my dear. and leave me, here.

to die amongst your waltz.

this is a very personal piece for me and it emanates the fabric of this very niche and specific, yet broadly experienced, sorrow within heartbreak and/or moving on.
hayden Oct 2023
I can't stand myself. I'm scared that if I let myself think, I'll spiral so far down that I'll never come back up for air. I don't want to be crazy. I don't. I don't want visions from God. I don't want to see the cameras, check the locked door six more times, shake when the tires veer too close to the curb. I don't want to scream every time I see my reflection blink. I don't want to see my reflection blink. How do I convince myself that I still have time to build a life worth living when I lose myself every day in my delusions? Will I one day stop returning to reality? Will I still have time to build a life worth living if I don't? Do I live in the rot, let it consume me and wait to forget, or do I make something of myself, just to lose it the next time I have an episode? I lose hours talking to myself. I lose myself in the hours in between. And I'm terrified to lose everything. I religiously keep receipts and old packaging, mementos of every average Tuesday evening, because what if what if what if? What if I reach thirty and do not remember being twenty two? What if this is all I have to remember that I had a life before I lost it? What if I don't reach thirty and this collection of memories is the only thing left of me? Does a person's potential die when their mind begins to lie, or when they begin to believe it? I don't know if I have psychotic episodes anymore. It's more like episodes of lucidity to break up my average day of hiding from the NSA or my landlord or my neighbor or the ghosts or the devil or God or my mother or myself. Will I ever be a real person? If I build a life worth living, will I have my mind long enough to settle into it? I look to the future and there's a fog I can't quite see through. I'm afraid when I get there, that the past will look the same.
fear of losing my mind
(first thing ive written in years be gentle)
Francis Oct 2023
I’m tired,
Want to sleep.

Stop laughing,
As I weep.

Stop hiding,
In the corner.
Stop lurking,
Like a creep.

The only way,
To rid of you,
The only way,
To sleep.
I’ll draw you,
‘Till the crack of dawn,
To satisfy your needs.
This takes me back to a time in middle school when I caught my best friend (at the time) compulsively, discreetly drawing this eerie, disturbing doodle face on the bus ride home. I asked him what he was drawing and he said that it was this kid named Cornelius that comes out at night in his room. According to him, Cornelius said that only way he’ll leave him alone is if he draws him a lot. To this day, I can still draw the face he drew, and wish I could share it with this poem. This unfortunately made us drift apart, as I was too disturbed to remain in contact.
Moon Wright Nov 2021
my family believes
in demons and angels and spirits
but not mental illness

they think that seeing Shadow People
are a religious thing
and is something to be prayed about

but when I complain
about my delusions and hallucinations
they call me crazy and say
that I'm making things up

everything has to do with religion
in this **** house
and everything bad
is something to be prayed away

a made-up construct by humans
is more believable in my family
than realist illnesses of the brain

i'm tired of it
I'm sick and tired of this ****
David Plantinga Aug 2021
This sleep has sunk to catacombs
Where dreams are dreaming of themselves,
And where they slump to deeper shelves
A dim and voiceless banshee roams.  
Interlopers jostle memory,
And pressing on his signet ring,
Take on the seal of realer things.  
Truth’s rejected for hyperbole.  
Delusions stack in strata, drowned,
Lives never lived, in parallel,
That puzzle sleepers who can’t tell
Where waking lies, so lies confound.
Raven Blue Jun 2021
Refuge from loneliness.
Thought it was love,
But that was just kindness.
I should not have hoped,
To have those delusions.
I should not have confessed,
And just kept it as a lonely love.
Aryan Notani Apr 2021
Delusions, Delusions, Delusions...

An exotic perfume out of her fleshy lips
Glistening teeth with a slight fringe of light yellow
Hair messy but perfectly done
Eyes, a bit far off but as true as the moon
The smile as beautiful as a rose in a thousand nettles.

The greatest treasure for mankind is a perfect soulmate and nothing else...
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