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Patrick Sporrer Jan 2018
Silence,

In the mind

Is what he strives for-
Ushering sweet shushings
Destined to fall-

Desperately,

Hopelessly,

On deaf membranes-
Eardrums cluttered
And cloistered
By juggling run rampart-
Amuk.

The color of blood
Seeps down his forhead-
Sweatdrops glistening
Their crimson beauty-
Reminders that his sight
Is still unseen-

Cataracts unsheathed
Beneath Winter's chilling kiss
Of endless doubt and drought.

The frozen beauty captivates,
Encapsulates his mind,
And all his eyes roll back,

And his hands are useless.
I want to crawl out of my skin and transcend. I want to feel all the things I have forgotten that don't have names. I want to slip away. I want to laugh freely. I want to feel the way I used to.Β 

this bed is stripped down to the mattress and it shows all the faults and failures. it knows my name, bears my secrets, and held me up for four years. this ceiling houses my soul. these walls have both imprisoned me and set me free.

Laura gets emotional whenever we go to the towneast NA meetings. she says β€œthis is the room I got clean in.” 

this room is where I rose and fell; transformed and burnt the remains of my monstrosity. I have evolved and endured within the confines of these walls. the scent of psychosis and freedom still lingers in the wallpaper of the bathroom after a long hot shower.

I have changed my entire existence within this room. I have lost my mind and soul in here. I have been empty and numb, trapped on this mattress. I was determined to make it the last thing I ever saw, once.

I have been to heaven and to hell on this bed. now I question if either exist. everything I have ever known, I have learned in here. everything I have ever questioned happened within this room.

I want to burn it to the ******* ground.
December 6th, 2013
a lament of psychosis, addiction, recovery, and resilience.
Jack Winstone Jan 2018
He shakes his head
and tries to clear his mind.
Getting worried in the moment,
'I'm sure i was feeling fine'.

Perception becomes twisted,
Truth becomes lies.
Paranoia is knocking,
He's broken all logical ties.

He checks behind
to see who follows.
A chill down the spine,
inside he'sΒ Β hollow.

Sense is hard to find.
This fire started from a spark.
The pressure inside his mind,
Stretching and tearing the world apart.

Mania.
Depression.
They all leave impressions.

Pcsyhotic,
Traumatic.
'No need to be dramatic'.

They don't know.
They never will.
They think its a lie.
'I was sure i was feeling fine'.
This is meant to be relatable and an eye-opener at the same time, relatable in a sense that some things can be twisted by ones mind but an eye-opener to those who believe that mental health is dismissable.
Luke Nov 2017
I once lived on a beautiful farm, sparkling with green life,
With family I dwelt, growing crops, and never was there strife,
But even with the gorgeous wildlife, lined with perfect flowers,
I sometimes thought beyond the borders there were secret powers,

So one fine day I left our home, travelling through unknown lands,
Through jungles bustling with new creatures, spectacular desert sands,
After walking many miles I came across a gnome,
Who promised me an astonishing gift that I could take back home,
I asked him what I could give in return; he asked me for my clothes,
And pointed out the quickest way back, a dark and desolate road,

The gift was packed inside a crate and loaded on a cart,
But there were no horses to pull it and it looked to be falling apart,
So I tied the ropes around my chest and pulled my gift with all my might,
Naked on the dark road I began to feel the fright,
I was sure the gift would be worth the many leagues that I had travelled,
But sweating, sunburnt, exhausted, I could feel myself unravel,

I got home to my family at last but their faces were concerned,
Naked, tired and hungry I revealed what I had earned,
The crate burst open with a BANG! The gift charged out with menaced eyes,
A horse as black as a the back of a cave, screaming strangled cries,

It’s eyes were dead,
It screamed and fled,
It trampled everything in sight,
Blocking out the sun’s own light,
My family’s house was trodden down,
And I stood watching like a clown,
All the crops were battered,
My precious flowers lay in tatters,
And it charged our homeland endlessly,
As powerful and stubborn as the sea,

And then it came straight for me so I turned around and fled,
But within a second I lay on the ground, hooves stamping on my head,
I often tried to hide by digging holes with hands and nails,
But it sought me out through day and night, leaving ghostly awful trails,
My family built a tunnel whilst I held my wounded head,
And I lived down there in terror seeing no bright lights ahead,

One day in despair as I lay underneath the Earth,
I watched a flower bloom as if the dirt was giving birth,
And somehow that simple, beautiful thing filled me with relief,
Because I remembered what I had forgotten; the power of belief,
And so I worked my mind out with imaginary weights,
Pulling together all my decent personality traits,

When I emerged from the tunnel which had been my home for years,
The Black Horse turned towards me but I pushed away my fears,
I vaulted out the ground, erupting, full of determination,
And when my enemy charged at me it’s red eyes were damnation,
I stood my ground surrounded by the power I had built,
It was almost upon me, head down, stampeding at full tilt,

I grabbed it’s mane and pulled myself upon it’s black behind,
I straddled it, it bucked around, but I paid it no mind,
Riding that Black Horse day and night I could feel my power growing,
And I thought of the crops for the first time in years and planned to get them sowing,

Tenaciously I stayed glued to that rampaging Beast,
And after a while I found that all of it’s stampeding had ceased,
The Horse’s coat was changing to a lighter shade of black,
My family filled in the tunnel with Earth and I knew I’d never go back,

The barren trees were growing again with glorious green leaves,
I owe that to my faith and to the power of belief,

Flash forward and I sit perched on a marvellous white Stallion,
And around my neck I wear a sparkling Jaguar medallion,
The crops are growing wonderfully - better than before,
My Horse is tremendous and proud; red-eyed and dangerous no more,

My family is still hungry although the crops are sprouting well,
And we do not have the money to replace our farmhouse which had fell,
In the chaos caused by my decision to try and get more than I had,
My curiosity had led to greed and had drove my psyche mad,

So I ride out on the road again and promise I’ll be back,
Owning this great beast I’ve tamed I drive her down the track,
We get to town, and I climb down and lead her to the stables,
Nostalgia running through me I’m not sure if I’m quite able,

β€˜She is a magnificent beast! I’ve never seen anything like her!’,
The stable-keeper says, his voice an awestruck little whisper,
I walk back home in golden light, not worried for the miles,
Find myself surrounded by a wolf-pack, their pointed teeth turned up in snarls,
My faith is strong, my mind is steel and I am going to win,
The wolves appear to sense this and they treat me like their kin,

I get back home; my loved ones say, β€˜Hey, where is your beast?!’,
I smile at them and say, β€˜It’s gone, now who fancies a feast?’
The gold I got for the Stallion is enough to fix the farm,
Looking at it now you’d never guess it had come to harm,

I lie in the field and feel the grass brushing gently against my arm,
Watching the birds cruise above me with their everlasting charm,
And now I never fear the dark, or creatures of the night,
As long as I stay in this lovely place, the Horses will always be white.
It takes a lot to say nothing
I'm coming to find that my soul has been screaming my whole life
And I am just now able to translate its tongues
Into some sort of verbal *****
That a human could possibly understand
I have never felt like a true part of this socially structured civilization
I have never felt like a homosapien shaped by its surroundings, its perception
Instead I have felt like a source of energy that flows without molecular or even atomic ties to this universe
Confined to a physical form in a four dimensional realm
If you cleave away the ego, you can feel the infinite
I have so much more to say,
And I have struggled my whole life in finding things to say
That matter, that are relevant
And I've come to realize that my soul has been screaming my entire life
And I am finally able to translate the tongues
Into something meaningful to say.
You may not hear the divinity in the language I use
You may not feel the sincerity in my soliloquies
But I do, and my perception is what shapes my reality
And only I can save me, now
The selfishness in the selfless
And the hollowed out remains of the empath
I can't be the only one who hears this piercing noise?
And this sickness that runs through the planets veins?
The agonized cry of every species on the earth harmonized into the humming vibration some call the will of god
Our pain is ricocheting through the void we reside within
An echo chamber of screams
I do not believe in hell because it cannot get worse than this.
No, not this moment, you may have misunderstood
The progression of these moments will lead to an inevitable end
An end to end every beginning
I am not the only one who knows that the dead are just no longer physically present
I am not the only one who knows that humans are parasites
I am not the only one who can feel the agony of someone I have never come across
Simply because
Our souls all scream on a frequency
That only those who truly listen can hear.
It's going to take a miracle for me to feel again.

I don't get these people. These funny, funny beings.

Oh, I'm seeing things again.

Psychosis. Crazy. Eyes staring down from treetops.

Alien hands reaching out for you, for me, through the stark darkness of my childhood room.

Lights blind me: florescent and scorching hot-white.

He's always in my dreams. Watching me, somewhere. I search for him but he doesn't exist.

I know that.

I know that the trees don't have eyes and nothing wants to touch me.

Nobody ever wants to touch me.

Maybe it's better this way.

It's better to not be touched, or looked at.

Only imagined glances, passes, fancies.

He's right there, in my dreams again. I'm searching for him again. Imaginary love is as good as it gets.

It'll take a miracle for me to get used to the fact that I'm here to work, eat, sleep and die. Sacrifice.

At 25 I've grown old and fixed on an idea of perfection.

A perception that I can't feel breathing beneath my fingertips.

He isn't real.

This world is real.

I sure as hell wish I wasn't real, too.
G Rog Rogers Oct 2017
Nothing could save you
from your addiction
No one can save you
from your self

When you fell
You fell
straight to hell
You were gone
when you started
And nothing could
stop you...

from your addiction

Hell-bent for trouble
Headlong into tragedy
Drug induced psychosis
held you tight in its grip

Tighter than the clench
of a tightly gloved fist
The clenched fist of...

Your addiction

You bartered away
everything you owned
While incinerating
Your mind

Your heart and your life
cannot much longer
hold on...

against your addiction

No one could save you
from your addiction
Nothing can save you
from yourself.

-R.

(10.12.17)
-LA
Β©ASGP
Ashleigh Sep 2017
The strings that make up my mind
Have all just come untied
I try and try
To put them back
But I can never seem to get it right
The blue one for my emotions
Is all frayed at the end
And the red is all just knotted
In a thousand tiny knots
My thought string used to be held in place
By a couple black push pins
But someone snapped the ends right off
And now my thoughts run all about
I don't know what I am going to do
With this giant tangled mess
I think I will just lay down
And figure something out
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