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Desmond the poet Apr 2018
Every morning is a chance at a new day.
It’s never a bad life but a bad day.
Appreciate every seizure-free day. great feeling of rising post every fall.

Life's perkier focusing on what truly matters.
Each day may not be seizure-free,
There’s but, something good everyday.

I don’t live once.
Instead I die once.
I live every day.
I’ve been broken.
I’ve been hurt.
I’m however still alive.

https://www.facebook.com/EpilepsyandCpfriends/
As usual I share my experience living with epilepsy. This poem is about focusing on the positive because I'VE learnt a lot from living with this chronic condition.
Desmond the poet Apr 2018
I woke up confused.
I asked: what happened?
I’m broken and bruised.
Silently and violently, I was attacked.

I’m still curious to know what really happened.

The attack tears through my mind.
I’m separated from the world.
My mind was stolen.
As usual, I’m exposed to horrible migraines.

Oh! My God, it’s another seizure.

It’s one of many since childhood.
Oh! you inevitable silent attacker.
We’ve walked together since childhood.
You’ve got the nerve to even attack me at home.

I still can’t get used to our long-term one sided relationship.
Every epileptic seizure still hurt like the first time.

https://www.facebook.com/EpilepsyandCpfriends/
I am trying to express what I go through after every epileptic attack.
Always thinking,
Always fearing.
Always losing my control.

Could be better,
I resent her.
Write the letter of my soul.

Sweet obsessions,
Fear burning through my veins.
Sweet obsessions,
Questioning if I'm really sane.

It's so confusing:
The words I'm using,
To show the stories I have told.

Fight together,
Or against her.
The thoughts that I've heard are so old.

Sweet obsessions,
Fear burning through my veins.
Sweet obsessions,
Questioning if I'm really sane.

Suffering and obsessing,
Are the same thing or so it seems.
This obsession isn't sweet-
Constant thoughts of the fear to beat.

Sweet obsessions,
Fear burning through my veins.
Sweet obsessions,
Questioning if I'm really sane.
I was in the middle of a panic attack and somehow decide to finish a poem I started awhile back. Thanks!
poesuer Nov 2017
There is something wrong with my programming.
It's the the way I was manufactured.
Wires are crossed and some are missing entirely.

I'll probably short circuit again. Life will leave my eyes as they roll back into my skull and I'll fall down and I'll look dead. If I'm lucky my head will bang into the table and I'll fall on the floor and bruise myself everywhere.
It'll prove I'm still alive.

It's not pleasant, but it's a human thing to do.
Computers don't have seizures.
Old poem that I spruced up a bit. About my experience with dissociative seizures.
Äŧül Aug 2016
The great Mughal emperor of 16th century,
He died of multiple ***** failure,
Comprising of the heart as well as others.
They say that he loose motioned his way to death,
Then the ancient emperor had got a heart seizure.
Dysentery had made the dying emperor weaker.
So yes, dying in old age can be a smelly affair.

My HP Poem #1119
©Atul Kaushal
Robert C Howard Oct 2015
Decked out in chiffon and lace
young Ella, called after mom,
never felt so grown,
rushing to mother’s call
to pilot the stroller today.

The streets to market were bare
save for a frail widow
guiding her walker to their right -
smiling at the girl in chiffon.

Without a sign, electric shocks
seized the old woman's frame,
spreading her supine like a crucifix
beside the irrelevant walker.

Battling through glazing eyes,
she clung to images of mother, stroller
and the girl in chiffon -
their cries a distant echo.

But their images presently faded
and old dear Ella returned to primal dust.

*July, 2006
Please consider checking out my book,  Unity Tree - available from Amazon.com in both book and Kindle formats.
Gabriel K Sep 2015
They found him on the floor at home
having “some kinna episode"
they called the ambulance
it's epilepsy
they said
probably.
Convulsation
violent spastication
what does it mean?
a message of some kind
an angry spirit
struggling to escape?
“It's probably genetic”
they said
or drug-abuse
you're not a prophet or seer
take Lamotrigine
100mg
bi-daily,
8 hours sleep
no alcohol drugs cigarettes caffeine
the absences are temporary
a few minutes a day
the memories?
Who needs them anyway?
Look forward not back
look after yourself
spaz.
© Gabriel K
Sarah Khan Aug 2015
Annabelle does sit at play,
In her usual, cheery way.
She does not worry, nor does she fret,
She hasn’t reason to be scared yet.
Then, the seizure overtakes her,
Perhaps caused by a noise, an innocent whir.
“Mom, it’s happening”, she cries,
With her hands she covers her eyes.
“Annabelle, Annabelle, ‘twill all be fine,”
We calmly say, with deep fear inside.
We knew that this was epilepsy,
I wished it wasn’t her, but me.
But she endured the pain and strife,
Now a part of her daily life.
She was strong of heart and head,
Even in her hospital bed.
After a minute, the nausea stops,
And our level of fear gradually drops.
Annabelle returns to her lovely self,
But we know that more seizures will take this sweet, young elf.
I wrote this poem for my younger sister, who is living with epilepsy. She has been so strong and brave, and has inspired me and all of her friends and family.
glass is the night
she seizes in the street
blood spills from her mouth
tongue cut wide
little boy clings to cheap, plastic toy
*doesn't need to see this

*or maybe he does
Matt Berkes Jun 2015
Fear is that rock
In your throat
When you can't breath
And your eyes
Decide they're dry.
It's that numbness
That starts in your face
And paralyzes you whole,
Everything from
Your toes
To your brain
Until you're thinking
A million things at once
And nothing.
Fear is
Watching your best friend
Lose control of his body
On his kitchen floor
Because he was born with
A dysfunctional kidney
And not knowing how to
Make it stop
And realizing you might
Never laugh with him again.
I lie awake at night
With that image
Scarred into the
Back of my eyes
Because I'm afraid
There will be a next time
And that the next time
Will be the
End.
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