pouring all the water in the glass, till the glass starts spilling out everywhere
this happens every time she drinks from it
she's fully aware of it, but allows it to keep spilling
wetting her shirt, the floor, and the table
drops on her skin racing to the floor, trying to beat gravity

meanwhile they were in front, watching all of it
wondering why she isn't doing anything to stop it
second-hand embarrassment is what they felt
for the fact that she can't simply drink a glass of water without spilling it all
"what a mess" they thought

nobody wanted to be around that girl
"stupid" and "strange" are words that were used to describe her
because at such an older age, how can she not drink a glass of water?
how can she not control herself?
how does she not think about how uncomfortable it is for others to watch?

she knew what was happening, but continued to let it happen
she watched as everyone judged her, but still kept on going
is it inconsideration or self sabotage?
she wanted to see if they would see past that
but in the end, she realized that was what she was defined as

~
⚠️Trigger Warning: the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to self-harm and involuntary psychiatric hospitalization
⚠️
~
An emulation of the song Drunken Sailor by The Irish Rovers
~
what will they do with a maddened writer?
what will they do with a maddened writer?
what will they do with a maddened writer?

early in the morning

way hay and up she rises
way hay and up she rises
way hay and up she rises

early in the morning

cuts her wrists with a rusty razor
cuts her wrists with a rusty razor
cuts her wrists with a rusty razor

early in the morning

way hay and up she rises
way hay and up she rises
way hay and up she rises

early in the morning

put her in the 'sylum till she's sober
put her in the 'sylum till she's sober
put her in the 'sylum till she's sober

early in the morning

way hay and up she rises
way hay and up she rises
way hay and up she rises

early in the morning

stick her in the room with the padded walls
stick her in the room with the padded walls
stick her in the room with the padded walls

early in the morning

way hay and up she rises
way hay and up she rises
way hay and up she rises

early in the morning

put her in a bed with her limbs strapped down
put her  in a bed with her limbs strapped down
put her in a bed with her limbs strapped down

early in the morning

way hay and up she rises
way hay and up she rises
way hay and up she rises

early in the morning

that's what they do with  the maddened writer
that's what they do with the maddened writer
that's what they do with the maddened writer

early in the morning!

⚠️Trigger Warning: the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to suicide and death⚠️

When a person dies
of a physical illness,
you mourn them.

When a person commits suicide,
you assassinate their character
and call them
selfish

because their death is a result
of a self-inflicted action.

Because they chose to die,
right?

Because they not only chose  
to destroy themselves,
but the lives of their family and friends,
right?

But
just as a physical illness
turns the cells against the body,

a mental illness
turns the mind against
itself,
convinces it that
death
is the only option.

What you don't understand
is that the person isn't our
killer--

depression is.

This OCD
It's killing me
I'm a bit dead already
(But I won't die)

A normal day
I saw a spot on the glass
I cleaned it once to sanitize
Don't know what touch came to my mind
I voice in my head I can't comprehend
I wasn't sure of myself
So I cleaned it a second time
3rd time out of doubt
4th time to maintain my sanity
15th time it was insanity
And I still thought that the glass wasn't cleaned
In that moment I became diseased

I heard these voices constantly
Dictating me,giving decrees
Things I didn't think about
Now so hard to live without
Thinking of them

Intrusive thoughts
Intruders
Included
Such apparitions
It haunts me still
And they wouldn't leave
(I begged and begged and begged)
Such thoughts
I could die
(But I wouldn't )
I felt like the worst man alive
Was I bad
Or was I mad
It made me insufferably sad

A spot a speck
A fallen drop
Rendered me paralyzed
And I carried out rituals
Just to have some respite
I cried inside
Most difficult to fight
To win with your own mind

Internal demons
Killing me
Using me as their device
Too frightened what would others think
An academic boy
Being possessed
I didn't utter a single word
Until I was caught
It was too much
I was obsessed,compelled and disordered

I don't know why I did things
I just felt disgusted
By the spot the speck
Real and imagined
I doubted everything
Even things I did seconds ago
And made crazy theories
Of how that speck would **** me slow
Rationality thrown out of window
Lady Macbeth why won't you go

I confided
Couldn't bear
Thankfully
My parents were there
They couldn't understand
Why I was acting
Such
Over silly things
But it was real to me
It mattered too much

I searched the web
To find the cure
But thing I read
Made me more
And more scared
Was I forever impaired

I went to the psychiatrist
He fed me with some medicines
I would be lying if I say they didn't help me
But my real fight was with the demons inside me
The thoughts
Be gone
I beg to you be gone
I to again become the master of my life

Make your mind stronger still
So what if speck landed on you
It won't be the end of the world
Boy gather will
Said mrs psychologist

I tried it was hard
To be exposed yet prevent reaction
Be obsessed and prevent the compulsion
I had panic attacks
And emotional outburst
Yet I feel
Slowly but surely I am getting better

Thank God my family was so considerate
I feel for those less fortunate

Mental health is all too real
And first step to cure it all
Is to talk(please please for God's sake talk)

I'm an addict,
my weak mind succumbed by the allurement of sadness.
A strong emotion with enough power to fill me up with something.
A starved stomach craves the feeling of being full.
And I've never been a picky eater.

i listen to your words
watch your eyes move with each new line you drop

i wish you didn't love me
you'd be so much better off that way

i'm sorry
i can't hold your gaze

i want to
i swear

i beg you, please
believe my promises

i haven't let you down yet
have i?

The smell of cherries,
Rich, tangy, sweet,
Like syrup dripping down through my water,
Leaving my lungs filled with nauseatingly, gorgeous pink,
Outside the window’s damp metallic screen.
It pulls my eyes out,
Leaving across the city,
Dark and screaming as it is.
Screaming to be worth something,
To be known,
And all we are is above, in the clouds.
Pink, suffocatingly high,
All around us the air sings,
And I am choking,
Colliding with the atmosphere,
The heart envelops the mind,
I am here again,
All metal.
Waking nightmare,
The smell of cherries.