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Split Sep 29
Do you ever have a designated **** up day?

Bulging organs
nearing capacity.

Silver omissions
drenched in chaotic acid.

Floors swept by tarnishing stress:
piles of knowledge meant for the future,
piles of words nursing the past,
piles of tools aiding in mental destruction.

Yeah me too.
Split Sep 29
I've gotten used to sitting in my room.

A bright screen lighting up my face,

fingers typing at the speed of light,

reminiscing on all the things I used to feel.

Indeed, I want to say much more,

but . . .

there comes a point
where words
have served their deed.

Where there's not much more to say.
For what has been lived,
has
    been
          indulged,
              digested,
           ­      and passed through.

Go explore,
experience the unimaginable.
Then return to pump hearts full of:
        pain,
                  love,
                       ­    insight,
               and undetected truisms.
Split Sep 29
It's time to sleep.
Allow your lids to cover the sins of today.
Split Sep 29
What if one day
I disappeared,

Deleted my virtual existence,

Stopped seeing my regular friends,

Lost contact with all?

What if one day
I stopped wishing
For who I could one day be,

And instead,
Became that being?

What if one day
I turned off the world around me,

And did all the things I ever wished?

In a month I’d rid my old skin,
Sweat off my past disappointments,
Reminders of sin.

In a month my hair would grow
To lengths of which I myself paved,

In a month
My knowledge of
Culture ,
Academia,
and Myself,
Would expand.

But in that month
I’d lose my friends.
Hurt those who simply cared and wondered.

What would that make me?
Just as bad as those
Who urge me to disappear?

Or just as good as those
Who promote self-evaluation?

There is indeed a middle balance.
But that . . .
that's for the healthy-minded.
I remember when I truly wished to escape to a land where I was unrecognizable. I'm glad I've gotten better since the day I had originally written this poem.
This year I was diagnosed with a
New condition
I mean, it's not a new condition

But it is new to me

I had already earned my:

Oppositional Defiant Disoorder (ODD)
Attention Deficit and Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD)
Major Depressive Disorder (MDD)
Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD)
Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)
Persistent Depressive Disorder (PDD)
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)
Complex-Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD)

Merit badges so
What was one more

Just Kidding
This one was different
Very different

It really made everything else
Fall into place
For the first time in my life

Dissociative
Identity
Disorder

I was a multiple
And I was finally
Waking up
DID
_____
Footnote:
Complex-Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD) not added
Until the DSM VI
Like the M. NIGHT
Whatever
One
.
.
.
https://medium.com/@caseywilfordrobinson/split-2-e620acfef35b
Need the
Visual
staring once more
into myself
dregs staring back
me, "nothing more
than a character"
then close, it follows
staring inside
from the outside
what do you see?

can't escape the
sum of my parts
smoke signals sent,
nothing returned
need to ask those burned
"should i burn myself"
hurting inside, toiling
the trivialities.

what's the good word?
i'm making sense
time wasn't lost,
the time was spent

every once in a while
i can act out certain scenes
in ways my words
could never say

my worst qualities crack the best of my plans
my worst qualities crack the best of my plans

there was a point,
the recent past,
this act had meant
feeling concrete
the cast has since
disappeared
let the pour pool
up here, set
around my feet.

my worst qualities crack the best of my plans
my worst qualities crack the best of all my plans

i'm split, i'm split, i'm split
Laokos Jul 22
born from a splitting
ache in the back-left of my head
like a drill bit whirring in an empty paint can.

i'd give you pearls for hands my love,
ever-winter washing over our foaming cerulean eyescapes.  

inside your drums I hear
a pulse that cries for
hips and thorns entangled
under your
navel.  

one more summer breath from lung to lung
exchanged
under moonlight for the promise of elevation.  
you are not
who you say you are
my dear - you are a
future memory
stalking sweetly today under the guise
of novel pleasure , but time will
reveal your skin to me
under the electric lavender
of my
eyelids.

you are wood grain
and strata -
born too, it seems, from a splitting.
Mal Jul 19
after all we had
and every moment we have shared
we now act like we never met
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