#hypochondria
Justified demise of another set of longing eyes,
is it that I'm comprised of a cacophony of longing lies
telling me I'm no good,
that no one should love me, how could they?
A roughly carved shape of a soul and the hole left by selfish doubt
a window to a world of reasons reasoning why I should be left out.
The continual fear that love is a trap designed to erode the calloused halls of frozen walls that carry reassuring tones that the cold is consistent,
that warmth is insistent on melting our walls and making survival an emotional chore when we could just avoid it all. And yet despite the comforting embrace of psychological hypothermia, we want more.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 7:49 AM UTC
I am the king of a crumbling castle,
a hassle to hold but I'm old and I'm scared
of the bold young world that sits around me
surrounding my vision, emissions of life
like entities born in flame, that drift astray
from parents ensnared in the glare of a television screen.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 7:40 AM UTC
Break, my fingers can't stop
the Shake, fight the sandman
that Face, a grin of pure evil
don't Trace, the lines of the devil
he Takes, the girl who smiles
her Brace, the teeth are wild
and Stage, your own undoing
a Mage, a mood is brewing
a Rage, a storm is on
the Waters, he's coming he's coming
don't Flaunt her.
It's you that's running your time, tap tap
bleeding it out like wine and water
a rose he dines alongside, it flows
come gather your manly pride, but you're froze.
Hold your breath. Explode. Put it to the test.
Sleep. Rest. Dive. Go deep.
Must break the sheath. Deny you're weak.
The futures bleak, for those who hide.
Those who wait. Grate your teeth.
They who sleep, buried deep
Them that run, find your fun in
what got you running to begin with, the
Revolutionscaryness
risk of unawaryness
chase the chance to advance
and romance the possibility of fruitful fairy tales.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 7:32 AM UTC
The Dungeon Calls
The Dungeon sings
In wincing tones
of wicked things,
the entrance looms
The doorway's dead
The wailing wins
and claims your head.
You run away,
you don't look back.
You know what's peeking through the cracks.
Not one to bare the light of day.
It waits, beyond
while you decay.
The Dungeon howls.
The dungeon's sweet.
The dungeon send you off to sleep.
It's safe, this place
where you reside.
Out there you fear
sunlight collides
with ghastly skin
and telling eyes
so let them get on
with their lives.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 7:21 AM UTC
Do you ever get deathly afraid
of your heart exploding?
Maybe you haven't felt like yourself
and you worry maybe you're nearing your end.
You sit up at night thinking about
this phantom illness that chills you.
You crank the heat, but you shiver in fear
at the thought of leaving this world.
In times of sadness, you thought
it might be okay to be dead.
That in comparison to the suffering
darkness would make it all okay.
But as you think this sudden change
could by some percentile mean your death.
You long for all the years ahead of you
and shed tears for your children you'll never meet.
You cry in terror until finally spared by sleep,
and maybe feel better when you awake.
You may even get some long-term relief
by way of some doctor assuring you that you're fine.
But it will only be a matter of time
before your anxiety convinces you yet again
that you are not long for this world.
And you feel stupid
for essentially worrying over nothing.
But you do hope with all of your being
in spite of past suicidal thoughts
in spite of the heartache you've experienced...
You hope with all of your being
that you might just manage to live a long, happy life.
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 1:58 AM UTC
Eating out is a nightmare
as every meal dissolves
into a food poisoning scare.
Riding the merry-go-round
is a disaster, your claim of being allergic
to horses forces them to shut it down.
Google is your friend,
symptom searches are endless
whether they're real or pretend.
While reading this poem
you begin to feel a bit worse for wear,
wishing you were in bed at home.
Headache?
Brain tumor is your answer.
Sore throat?
It's probably cancer.
You're not sure if your back hurts
or your kidneys are failing,
neurotic to a fault
you call in sick to your own wedding.
You even press for a second opinion
to see if it's serious,
nonetheless, we do wish you a speedy
recovery from your imaginary illness.
Jan 3, 2020
Jan 3, 2020 at 6:06 PM UTC
Busted! Caught again
In a battle for your brain
Oh please, don't pretend
The nights! And the scares
Guilt built up inside your skull
Oh please, let it end
Curled, crying lies
Awake! Inside his eyes, glossed
In a withered glow
Oh! It asks as he
Blends into his wallpaper:
"Oh please, where'd you go?"
~Humanity, I don't know~
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
Health anxiety.
You google one thing and it says another.
You have a headache and it says its cancer.
Countless trips to your family doctor.
The test was negative, you will recover.
Everything is fine but you’re feeling awkward.
Maybe everything IS fine, perhaps you’re like an actor.
Acting out the symptoms you should get an oscar.
Sue me for feeling like somethings not right, get me a lawyer.
To everyone around me, i’m like a destroyer.
I need to rebuild my life from being an over reactor.
Theres a fine line between normal worry and anxiety.
Theres a fine line between being labelled from society.
Theres a fine line between being sick and being healthy.
But even those who are wealthy are not protected from being unhealthy.
And thats where this fear has developed.
Knowing the highest of classes still are not protected.
CEO’s can get cancer.
The president can get Alzheimer's.
Investors can get tumors.
Is it really so peculiar that I fear that this will occur.
Occur in me? Effect my family? Increase mortality?
Maybe i’m not a clinical case of a hypochondriac, but I feel that sometimes I can be.
Maybe i’m not a maniac, but I know I over worry.
These thoughts don’t keep me up at night, but when I’m sick I always think...
What if its this, what if its that, what if this thing can **** me.
But I guess thats just normal anxiety.
Evolutionary instinct.
Our human kind won’t go extinct.
I don’t need to talk this out with a shrink.
So this cold is lasting more than a few days, maybe i’ll just go to a doctor.
Stop fearing that this is the end, see someone and you’ll feel better.
You can get sick from being stressed, or even change from weather.
Its not strange if you catch a cold, no need to worry it won’t last forever.
When you feel like the doctor is wrong, please try to remember.
A runny nose isn’t cancer, forgetting to check the mail isn't alzheimers, and a headache isn’t a tumor.
Those are all just internet rumours.
Google isn’t your doctor.
Worrying isn’t hypochondria, no need to add that to your self diagnoses list.
While disease is a real thing, worrying is the real *****
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
Living a hypochondriacs dream,
Because my pain is one that is real.
Everyone says I'm fine,
But I know my own body because my body is mine,
Life developing as a double exposure,
In two places at once and contained in a tight enclosure,
Here I am with no sense of closure,
I will dream of running away,
Throwing my possessions away,
Put my worry to rest,
Before I am the one put to rest.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
I had a little headache yesterday
But "little" headaches leave me in ill humor
because I know (and very often say:)
"I don't get headaches! It must be a tumor!"
When I get aches, it fills me with misgiving.
For any symptom, even though it's vague,
I've known this much: as long as I've been living:
Each little pain must be bubonic plague.
I never had a tiny ailment yet
But I was sure was going to cause my death,
And every case of pimples that I get
will shortly make me end up like Macbeth.
A doctor said the malady I fight is
Called terminal acute dramaticitis
dag 11/10/2013
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
Everyone is high
On self pity and
Hate
Self diagnosed with
A terrible
Fate
No one knows
How to be sad
Without writing it off
As extraordinarily bad
Happiness isn't
A permanent gig
It's always there
If you bother to dig
Everyone is sad
Because the world is ****** up
And no one dares
To see the good stuff
A world of pessimism
Breeds angry babes
And they all start to believe
Theres no Other way
So load up on drugs
Get high in the rest
Because that's when the world
Looks its ******* best
No one was taught
How to smile
Despite the world
Looking dark for a while
So we all slit our wrists
And demand sympathy
From a world that never cared
If you were down on your knees
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
What is, for you,
A raindrop
In a puddle
Is, for me,
A hurricane
Over the ocean
What is, for you,
A crack
In the pavement
Is, for me,
The beginning
Of an earthquake
What is, for you,
A simple,
Minute step
Is, for me,
A monumental,
Colossal devotion
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 9:20 AM UTC
Paranoia.
Explain it to me.
Help me understand the fear that lies within me.
Why I suddenly feel that my candle of life,
Is quickly burning away at both ends of the stick.
The fear, the fear.
It continues to grow.
From the seeds of paranoia that I personally sow.
Is it all in my head, or is the danger really there?
None the less, the uncertainty is what I cannot bear.
Every cigarette I've had.
Every time my throat aches.
There is no medication for regrets and mistakes.
Ignoring the warnings does not make them untrue.
Being ignorant can only lead to the downfall of you.
Diabetes or Cancer?
Malignant or Benign?
Everyone tells me that I'm, probably fine.
But they don't understand that the battle inside,
Is convincing myself that it's all in my head.
It's nothing. It's nothing.
Miguel, you're okay.
These are the mantras that I repeat every day.
To myself in my head, or out loud when alone.
Hoping that one day my health will atone.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 5:50 AM UTC
Blinders descend beside my eyes
I must focus only ahead
Staring at me as I lie in bed
I am held down firmly, hands tied
My spirit groaning with the weight
Small fear grows larger, amplified
Can't look away no matter how I try
From this demon I cannot sate
Heartbeats quickens; I stand, pace the floor
I watch moments like hours gradually pass
Breathe, try and calm, pray for no more!
Limbs seize, surely I stand at death's door!
Until with time comes reason at last
And I sleep like a soldier come home from war
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC