it's a collection of intrusive thoughts,
you've been taking care of it for so long,
developing an attachment to it,
putting other attachment issues on hold.

it's the most worthless precious thing you have,
the rest of them might not see it, but you do.
the rest of them overlook your worth, too,
so casual you're not even sure it's still there.

such a funny story until it's not,
an impossible theory no one can prove wrong,
it's a collection of intrusive thoughts
that you've been in possession of for so long.

Once all of the weights build up
And you believe that life is just a lie
Something which you've made up
The perfect answer to a broken mind
You'll sob, you'll punch, you'll kick, you'll cry
Because then you'll know you are nothing
Nothing but blind

I couldn’t sleep the other night
Thought I’d get into a late night write
The words suddenly just started to flow
My pen and myself were both in the know

I wrote so many words, I couldn’t stop
I penned and I penned, putting titles on top
Happy words, sad words, words to live by
Words about love under the midnight sky

The hours passed quickly, more with each rhyme
I was lost on the pages, I was lost in that time
I just kept writing, every word I could find
Trying and trying to empty my mind

When I looked up it was six in the evening
I was so tired, my mind thoughts were leaving
I had finished and finally took a break
I had 38 poems without one single mistake

Follow up to 39 more pages to go

Sometimes I think of going back,
when my mind begins to scream.
When my body loses power,
and I fade into a dream.

Sometimes I'm close to giving in,
when laughter doesn't stay.
When everything feels heavy,
and the light just slips away.

And when I go back, I wonder:
was it worth that brief escape?
A second of still silence,
for a year of endless ache?

I go back... but I don’t speak it.
I hold it in and fake it.
Don’t want to hear their questions,
or see the way they break it.

I know I made a vow,
but I broke it, somehow.
Once again, I crossed that line,
once again, I said "this time."

To you, it’s been nine months.
To them, it’s still unknown.
To me, it never ended.
I’ve faced this all alone.

It returns when I get angry,
it returns when I just stare.
It returns when tears come easy,
it returns when no one's there.

It never really leaves me,
it hides in every mirror.
It speaks inside my silence,
it echoes every fear.

Red eyes, like every time I fall.
A guilty mind, behind it all.
A heart that whispers what I hide.
A soul too tired to even cry.

Going back feels automatic,
living feels so problematic.
Pain is loud, yet I stay static—
and healing? Never truly magic.

Depersonalization: - (from Cambridge Dictionary) “experiencing events as if you were a third party observer, disconnected from your body or feelings”.

                                  - (from Dictionary.com) 1. the act of depersonalizing; 2. the state of being depersonalized; 3. Psychiatry. a state in which one no longer perceives the reality of one's self or one's environment.

                                   - (from lived experience)

1. A feeling turned sentiment, spontaneity that lasts too long, way too long, way too little; a moment stolen from the hustle and bustle, the conversations of others and mine; taken and returned like an eraser during a test; given and returned in perfect condition, unless the eraser’s yours, in which case you know this to be untrue: Fundamental change occurred, nothing really changed, nothing’s really different; You know this and yet you can’t go back, it’s impossible; Time isn’t linear, but it is and someone dirtied your timeline. Why are your hands *****?

2. A lost key, item, bauble, thing, it doesn’t matter; Held in your hand one moment, leaving you the next; did it leave of its own accord? Did it take up the road and walk away? Was it you?Without it, you can’t enter home and yet you enter home and it is your home, clinically yours, truthfully stranger: You lost your way home, you’ve known it since birth, since speech, since thought and yet you left and there is no way home: You are not lost.

3. Being lost, being unaware, you are lost; there is no body to hold you, ground you; You stole your costume, it knows you stole it, it won’t let you go: prisoner, thief, vagabond; You are so lost that you forgot: you’re not you, there is no you, there never has been, why would there be? You would be able to find yourself within the faces of others, the bodies of others, the existence of others; but there is no you, so you cannot, must not exist in their eyes, their nose, their teeth and bones, oh! boneless wanderer, there is no you among them.

4. Alienation from others, alienation from myself- An Exercise In Description.

Stories, reports from wars past, haunt me,
in spirit sensing wondering,
perplexing twisted strands
from National histories
kept for posterity, seen as certain
evidence of life being as reasonless
as distant suns in swirling galaxies.

The business of making ends meet,

make any punctual sense, ends now.

------------------

Dear, the word, intends
to express worthiness, valued

by cost, not
to make or gain the dear thing, but
by pain
at the loss,

remembering reason,
reattaching whole
required why lines, dangling

Among the many joys,
eudaemonia, silliness in the sense lost

nine cousin romps in the lawn sprinklers,

secrets sacralized sold
for students tempted so,

sacred vow bound logic

-
mid-14c., logike, "branch of philosophy that treats of forms of thinking;
the science of distinction of true from false reasoning,"
-

Refine elemental whying, trying, taking
for good, leaving
as worthless but
for marking
in mind, poisonous deception

Games of getting to the perfect peace,
having no driving curiosities or prides,

mystic authority granted me, poetically,
costly so-called sciences, I am, by faith,

for which homeostasis is the reason, ready,
balance of energy store and energy conversion

self guided discovery, so deep is one's ignorance,
self sorting discourses through mortal events, time
since e verily was allegorically massively imaginable

at thought sped enlightenment intended
to disrupt rote thought, symbol assignments
and general intelligence deceptive practices,

the bread and butter of the business of Psyche,
logic by which mankind live and learn and lead
those yet to be to become augmented generally
intelligent choosers of values… versus costs, price

personal, what portion of one's daily bread is paid,
back by me, the muse user enjoying being alive,
and safe, high in the coastal foothills environs,
practically perfect weather for happy humans,

gatherers more than hunters,
crafters more than manufacturers,
traders more than sellers or buyers,

but lacking religion, woe is them, indeed, if
all the witnesses to Hell, sent back to spare us,
perdition due the ignorance of original foul sin,
are not exalting their knowledge of damnation,
against the sacred knowledge of good and evil.

Live evil lurks in mere repetitioning prayer error.

Hooks in Jim Morrison's oevre, say… you cannot

imagine a reality without disgusting disdain for order,

order, in the court… witness under oath testing if we
agree, this is the ever we got this morning, as we rose

from slumber… we, thee linking me… in mind, inspired
thought, amused bemusement refusing confusing truths,

God loves Hell, love's it, or…

blasphemy, accuse me, gospel performer professional,
j'cuse, indeed. Did I dare to die for the American Story,

Home of the free, Land of the brave, oh, say, can you,
remember the first hand grenade WHUMP! can you,

not mirror neurologically callused startle response wise,

real deal, dead people, blood, smells, smoke, silence,
deaf deal with it… accept

therapy, publish, or perish, laugh and live free in truth,

not simple, but sub-elementally perfectly sublime

---------
The news from my future,
is mentally actively spiritually leading,

holding my circumstantial ordinariness,

spending a lifetime to reach one last day,
which can, we may imagine, be any day.
---------

Meaning in landmarks set as scenes,
who imagines whose mind's lost all hope,

who can, as a God-fearin' man, *** boy, cowboy,
drifter with a gift of gab and a deck of cards,
declare 'is whole soul forfeit, should he lie.

Bet me I did not beat my own demons, just
now, for the rest of my life, on the most likely last

day, I spend this way, like it were that very one.

The day called Judgement day, same  size day
as those in that original week, rest assured. What?

Obfuscation, cultural integrity, opposing
the holy Pharisees of mutual warring wills.

---------------------

In word form, as a thought, logic is open
seeping sneaking suspicions suggesting surety,
has an am big is us re-both-knowing ness spirit form
for a ready reader, list as doth the spirit, sure hot
wind in a gape jawed face, asking if this may be real
as has been realizable
since commercial radio, propagating productive
personal mysterious
signals sent via zeitgeist,
which reasserts itself, prodigious certainty of purpose,

what do I wish, what do we wish, we, with us in it, me
and you wishing we felt some fealty due the heroic me…

what if expressing a self, molded military mind model,
in a complex religious mystery granted symbols just as

right angled and perpendicular to gravity, per se

timely, chance, definite purpose, be as good as truth,

no harm, no foul, patiently pretending toward goodness,
as do little green apples, and children in my vicinity, true,

all the children in my house, and yard today, are good,
universal attestations, any ever experiencing, such a July,
presume these kids are as happy as can be, today
where I happened just to be, he who chose
to stick and stay and make it pay, by faith
some how, kindalike an intuition,
by now, this'd be real, an actual poetic privilege,

the truth that once the best that I could think or ask, a day,

whole, no ritual mass or mirror mantra back atcha, one day,

surrounded by children, literally running around my house,
and squealing little girl laughter at little boys rolling in mud.