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I: a paradox
Find peace in delirium
Grateful for the skill
A sleep deprivation induced  euphoria
She is prone to bouts of hysteria.
She smokes on her front porch, eyes fixed on the drawling, dipping sun,
kicking at clumps of her wisterias.
She is getting hysterical. She is waiting for a miracle.
It finally arrives. She signs for it, waves off the deliveryman who offers to help bring it inside.
“Never mind,” she mutters to herself, to her future self, lugs it in, box and all, across the threshold,
old cigarette tossed forgotten by the road.
She unpacks it, checks for cracks, dusts it off, brushes down the Styrofoam packs.
“Hmm,” she hums, thumbs brushing across her forearms. Her fingers drum against the table.
Finally, she sets it on her mantle. She tilts her head left and right –
Maybe it’s the light. Maybe it’s the angle.
It’s the furniture, she decides. It doesn’t match, it clashes terribly. There’s really nothing she can do about it, there isn’t anything to be done.
She picks it up once again, looks it over, sighing deeply. She never keeps her receipts, never really returns anything, but with this – she’ll admit that she’s sincerely disappointed.
And she’s disjointed, she wants a Camel. She is certain the enamel of her two front teeth has started chipping, and then suddenly her miracle is slipping, tipping down out of her hands,
and there’s no way she can stop it
dropping down onto her tile, cracking out in violent pinwheels
smashing cleanly into a pile of useless shards on hard ceramic
and she can feel the teardrops starting; she doesn’t think that she can stand it –
because her miracle was precious;
because she thinks she would have kept it.
8M Aug 2019
Have you seen a young girl,
By the name of Octavia?
Intertwined with shadows,
Of playful voices of madness

Do you remember,
When everyone forgot her?
And she was left to wilt
Like a flower in the snow

Do you remember,
When she stopped being scared?
As the madness and hysteria became no different
In the eyes of lost Octavia

Do you remember,
The eldritch one who's Octavia?
That unsettling childishness of the maddened girl
Lingered in her parents' hearts

Have you seen a young girl,
By the name of Octavia?
She's running the corner store, smiling so sweetly
With a torn book in her hand...

and a sharp blade
A continuation of a previous poem. Read that one to understand.
Shargeel Sheikh Jul 2019
The petals of the rose i kiss,
Remind me of your lips,
Soft and tender and sweet,
like the forbidden whiskey in the moonlit,
which seduces me to sip,
In the dreams of my romance,
The taste of raspberry, the scent inflicts,
As i burn like a crimson rose,
With petals akin to the one i kiss,
It's wild, it's frenzy, it's illicit
Yushi Jan 2019
Aggrieved at that grievous throb
Betrayed by the rosy rose
Pricked by its deceitful thorns
Hit by the pang of remorse
There is one thing I can’t control,
The Hysteria.

Those bloodshot eyes, the sulking façade
Those falling pearls of repressed feelings
Let lose is the pain once gathered
Standing on the lousy tip of life’s reeling’s
There is one thing I can’t control,
The Hysteria.

This delirium of spleen
This rage I feel  towards all
All those merry, all those joyous
Jealous, for their luck is tall
There is one thing I can’t control,
The Hysteria

Deserving of desolate gloom
Meaning to feel the iniquity
The guilt of all my wrong doings
Is worth no good man’s pity.
There is one thing I can’t control,
The Hysteria.
Well, I know its long, but read it anyways.
Saphira Rose Dec 2018
I can't breathe, I scream, I scream though not out loud, inside of me I scream, my breath slowly withering. I can't seem to use my brain, or think straight. I want to throw a tantrum, cuss, and fight the world, do all I can do to try to breathe and maybe I'll make it through. Wait! What? Let me see what are these things that makes it so I can't breathe. one of them is math, though it might seem simple it's dreadfully terrifying, can't seem to get it straight... every turn my brain is rhyming. Another, is being told what to do, I want to be good, I want to obey and do it God's way, is it just the fall of Man that makes it this way? Or is it my own Rebellion that makes ME this way? ... the third one is the feeling of being lost, or stuck mentally or physically I can't stand it... it puts me in Hysteria, my mind starts screaming "let me out! let me out of here! I demand you to do what I say! I'm not your captive." Help! Help! I don't want to be this way. I can't breathe, I can't breathe... please
This is based upon an actual problem that I have, I still have no idea why this happens.
Willow shade Jun 2018
With every cigarette
In every smoke
I sacrifice a day of my lifetime
by laughter and inertia...
I feel the hurt in my stomach
and the toxication in my blood
which help my nerves be kept awake
and this awareness
takes me to hysterias...
At any grief and frustration
with my heart towards none, I keep going on
Why just to suddenly vanish or pass away, tell me?
At every moment
I will get revenge and laugh at the bottomless void
that it echoed through the universe
and reached the stuffed ears of the cavalier god...
As I fight with him,
In return, he is joking with me,
Trying even sometimes to ingenuously ease me:
'Maybe to love the creator
because of his creature?!'
Oh, my Nothingness!
Yet he believes
that he is the only one
who can create and is worthy of being loved.
His jealousy leads me to cachinnation,
In addition,
I get into the storm of contemplation
and I reply to him:
'Yes, deserve I and my beloved
to be loved,
deserve we to be begrudged!
But you deserve your hell which you have created
Where you console your own despair, god!
The funny farm covered with rancorous flames
and suffocating mist,
I know you well, even better than yourself!
You are the supreme sufferer,
You are the first nihilist!'

Do I have to apologize?
As I despise your creator
Right in front of you, my dear?!
I cannot just bear
his apparent plight
before the power of a mightier notion
Sorry for my intense emotion
I am really sorry for being right...
Now I am at the peak of might
You can confidently hold on me
and come together
whenever you want.
Let's create the template of sereneness,
Let me give a feast for my deepest bliss,
My bliss - that you exist!
I will propose
a toast by the grace of you
and inscribe on my retinas
the beautiful face of you
to get the reflections flowing from your elegance...
Let me ennoble you...
I began to love this rampant negligence
As it helps me to fly and smile forever.
Unlike your jealous and vengeful creator,
magnanimous is my Lord - my void!
A piece of pure and deeper happiness I have found
And The Lord generously presented it to me
- even in nothingness yet I have you,
I hold you
on the heights of despair,
in the deepest site of my disordered existence,
even the distances between us
increase my resistance
as it is the distance of yours.
Anyway, I will accept,
Give me even a disaster,
Give me even a pain about you
Mad I am...
By all means,
very deeply mad, insane about you.
c Apr 2018
We danced, the cognate vessels
Nested in walls &
Cowered in blood

We buried love deep into
Beating flesh &
Writhed In Utero

We emptied veins of reason
Laid in torment &
Seceded in white gowns

We--Empiric experiments
We--Deficient devices
We--Thrashing threadbare


I was recently researching the term "hysteria", and the dark history that follows it. Stripped to its Greek roots, it essentially equates to "crazy woman". Doctors used this term to diagnose women & commit them as psychologically disturbed. They also used it to describe a woman while she was menstruating. It's worth looking into.
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