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Brad post Sep 28
This ****’s been going on,
for far too long.
It took me talking to him,
to know something was wrong.

It started as a whisper,
so quiet and weak.
I could force it to silence,
without having to speak.

Then my mind and body,
started to waste.
He started to gorge,
and fell in love with the taste.

My slow decline,
was the foothold he needed,
and his tendrils grew,
where I didn’t know they were seeded.

His control grew bigger,
till it shadowed my mind,
and the whiskey fog I was in,
had simply turned me blind.

Then one day I was through,
enough was enough.
I was going to take control,
I had to be tough.

That was the first time,
that he spoke to me,
and that “no” was enough,
to finally make me see.

I tried and I tried,
again and again,
crying through his laughter,
trying to pour him out through a pen.

He was poison,
like a cancer you see.
He was killing us both,
but everyone just blamed me.

Then one day I realized,
I couldn’t get rid of that voice.
To do that meant death,
and that wasn’t a choice.

He’s a part of me,
but disconnected too.
A bystander to the hell,
that he’s putting me through.

Now every day is a struggle,
to quiet his voice.
Trying to convince myself,
that I do have a choice.

So he’s here to stay,
the monkey on my back.
The ominous stranger,
who calls himself, Jack.
We all have that voice, some are stronger than others.
Jeff Lewis Sep 17
standing in line
for mail
at the homeless shelter downtown
get a stamp…or
two?
letters
that fill her hand she’s writing
to the FBI
writing to the CIA
the DEA  
perhaps the NSA
wonder
what she wrote?

some days
she tells
of shadow people who plot
and scheme
she hides from
ghosts
and their attacks
they track her
she hides
inside a dream
or more accurately, constant nightmare.

she talks to people in the air
rambled words
furtive glances
she listens  
what are the words that are being said
but then
who cares
no one knows those words
just Crazy Mary.
Crazy Mary is a composite of several homeless people I've gotten to know over the years. Untreated mental health problems are a huge issue that needs to be addressed in order to address general homelessness.
jeristorms Sep 13
Pad and pen,
here are Casey’s thoughts again...

Driving down the highway, Jason is strapped in because Casey’s in denial again. She doesn’t want to lose her little one.

Wake up Casey, you’re dreaming. He’s gone.
You drove under the influence.
What’s wrong with you?  
This is what you get. He’s never coming back.

Driving silent like a mime with its mouth sewn shut.
You’re just like a mime, living in a black and white world.
You’re gray matter Case.
You’re a nut-case.
Where’d you put your straight jacket?

You hit your brakes to assure Jason will be safe.
Convinced that at every intersection there’s a conspiracy against you,
sure to get hit.

But Casey, it’s too late. This is what you get.
He’s never coming back.

Why’d you have to reach for more?



Lock her up.
Strap her in.

Casey's off the deep end... again.
Mentally ill.
Creator Sun Sep 9
Do you see the boy?
Skipping and jumping under the sky?
Laughing like he has no fear in the world.
Holding hands with air.

Do you notice the way he moves?
The way his feet jerks and grooves?
Moving so unnaturally,
Laughing like there's no end in things.

Lovely schizophrenia, isn't it?
The way it came from his mother?
The way he cares for someone else
Suffering from the same mental illness.

Delusions, fabrications, dreams that is unreal.
the way that he perceives the world makes me really feel.
Uncomfortable, yet I don't think that he asked me to feel
Pity for his condition.

Laugh of a thousand children,
Asking for a better future,
Those ones that seek the asylum,
And look forward for capture.
Public opinion on mental illness is changing, but is it for the better?
John Glenn Sep 6
there I was, closing my eyes
hearing what they couldn't see
voices as cold as the night
she was an old woman yesterday
a young girl today,
an old maniacal man tomorrow
apparitions and entities
with whispers so loud
images fetter me with dread
and as I try to cup my hands
unto my ears, the ears of a madman,
and stretch my blanket
over my cold feet and curled up body,
kick, and scream, and wail,
and cry for help
in the dark of night,
I am silenced by such fears
I've seen the nasty places
not with the eyes
but through my ears
I am not schizophrenic but God knows how horrible it must be to be one.
Bec Aug 23
Patterns are like chains
I can’t break free
Or at least that’s the way
It seems to me
Crashing,
Spiralling around.

I keep you safe,
But lose my sound

Judgements collide,
Reality becomes a lie

When would be the last time I die?
Philomena Jul 9
I remember the emptiness in your eyes
Waiting for you to die
You never knew I turned out just like you
What a sick twisted game it is
I remember speaking to you softly
Watching you struggle to eat
And I remember telling you
"It's me, your grand-daughter"
Only for you to just stare in my face
I remember hours of cards in the waiting room
And the very last time I saw you
Tied to a bed
Lost in a dream you would never escape from
Fighting so hard
Ultimately to only give up
Almost two years
Philomena Jun 17
"Now please don't ever be ***, wait no please don't ever turn out crazy. If you were *** we'd always accept you, you know that, just please don't. And please don't be crazy you remember your grandmother, I don't think I could bear it."

You know I do it all for you mom.
I hold my tongue
I don't look at the other girls, not like I used to anyways
I lock myself in dark rooms and let the tears fall
I try to be sane

Truth is I'll never really be what you want me to be.
I'm an impostor to a perfect child.
And while I might never be a perfect girl or a perfect daughter,
I'm doing my best.
I might lie awake at night while horrors race though my mind,
and my body might love soft curves,
and I might never be just like you,
but I'm fighting it with all I've got.
And I know that I can never tell you my true nature,
but I do sincerely wish you could see
all I've done to be what you wanted.
Petrie Jun 13
Life of a $&%!#*-%^3(!&

Whispers,
Screams,
Conversations,
Music,
Demands,
Preferences,
But never silence.
Dear god there is never a moment of silence.
The things they say,
The things I see...
The things they make me feel.
As if there are eyes burning into the back of my skull.
Watching...
Waiting.
For the perfect moment;
When I'm sad,
Mad,
Lonely,
Vulnerable.
To catch me at my lowest,
So I will obey every word they so elegantly whisper
From the back of my own mind.
Ultimately my own twisted thoughts,
Paranoia,
Fears,
Anger.

Life of a Schizophrenic
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