Magic Flowers

There's a bug in the house
and a big one too;
has our tummies curl up
and us running to the loo.

I wish I had flowers -
magic ones of course -
then I'd brew us a tea
that'd shoot the bug out the door.

I read so much of herbs
that can heal anything;
flu, pox, diarrhoea,
broken spine, lost limb...

But they grow in deep woods
where sunrays don't touch the floor,
and the books don't speak of maps
or if they exist (anymore).

So till the enchanted woods are found
I'll stay safe at home,
and drink rooibos tea with plenty o' honey
and write another poem.

Every day as I drag this body out of bed
It speaks in ways I cannot comprehend.
“Tired.” It says but its eyes are awake
With a defeated look it closes them again.

Its weight on my back tires me enough
To sit at intervals, places smooth or rough.
Sometimes as I get back on my feet again
It pulls me back sharply, darkening my brain.

Somehow once again, I know I’ll adapt
To this routine of falling and getting back.
Through these days there’s something to gain,
The truth in its eyes when I see in reflection, its face.

Something.

The qualling moldwarp seeps.
Crude and distinguished.
Outcasted.
For and lived full.
Of rot in the crimson wave.
Veined
And insecure.
No high or lowering end.
No result in castled eyes.
Or mothered neutrons of the sick.
Sick.
So.
So.
Sick.
Too sick to rest.
Been gone and too many killed by thought.
By the drowning of the subliminal courage.
By the spinal departure in the sands.
And without welcoming of the azure.
Footprinted only to be pulled into red.
And entombed into onyx.
Never to receive the final wail of grief.


Garrett Johnson.

Since young I don’t really get it why do people cry or get disappointed when they’re are sick
Isn’t great that we can skip school or not work?

Until I realise mine own sickness it’s life threatening and I’m here praying to god everyday, begging for help and forgive the sin I’ve done.

Gasping for oxygen, trying to walk,
Trying to be normal again but how?

Walking was the easiest but now it became the hardest.

I must be sick...
There’s hope
I have plans
Things are working out
I met someone

Yet

Depression fills me like a heavy fog
Passive suicidal ideations linger
I can’t eat
I’m drawn to cut

I just... I just don’t understand

i'm sick
broken
drowning
disintegrated
everything's so tight, closed off, heart clenching,
disembodied, bruises, strangled,
detonating, beautiful, strenuous,
driven down, hole, black,
peaceful, floral, dead,
fragmented, eternal, fluid.

and i'm invisible
only seen before the light
material
glowing thought the night
invisible
strangled by the white
invincible
appearing to the slight