#ill
Perhaps evaporating my tears
to become a mere lifeless cloud,
drifting away like a truth I shy away from,
will free me from the cage that traps
My dignity. My soul. My life.
So I’ll be a bit happier.
Perhaps shrinking myself,
Reducing myself to sick opinions, comments, words
That stab me a little each time
Will save me from
My own dangerous thoughts,
So I’ll be a bit happier.
Perhaps shoving things down my throat
Knowingly, willingly, desperately
Will remove the guilt that’s buried
Deep in my mind
Scarring my stomach and thighs
Making me just broken bones. No flesh.
So I’ll be a bit happier.
Perhaps reaching out for that green lighter
Just once more
OnCe,
ONCE more
Will satisfy my cravings for pain,
So I’ll be happier?
Apr 14
Apr 14, 2026 at 12:28 PM UTC
The pull of the tarot reveals nothing I don’t already know.
The High Priestess,
Cast upon her head.
Searing into me all my dishonesty and ill-intention.
The Knight of Pentacles,
Atop his sure footed steed,
Taunting me with the stability that I have squandered.
Strength,
Reversed to show the weaknesses of my character.
Relishing every insecurity in my being.
I reach to test my luck against the deck once more,
But it would be a hollow attempt to escape my past.
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 12:57 PM UTC
I can’t see you this way.
I want to fetch you a cup of tea,
with sugar, just the way you like.
But this world won’t let me do it,
You don't smile like you did, my half-moon,
so, all I can do is pray for you.
Yet the moon isn’t even in the sky—
I guess he fell ill too,
when he couldn’t protect you from the cold.
Who should I pray to then, for you?
You’re the one I always look up to.
So, should I pray to you for you?
Or tell the air to carry my "warm" regards,
to your beautiful lips,
when you breathe it in?
What should I do, Señorita?
What should I do?
I guess I fell ill too.
Feb 16
Feb 16, 2026 at 11:25 AM UTC
and one day i can hold you as close
as i wish i could now
and we'll be stars and moons
and comets
you'll be flying, love
like you said you would
Jan 27
Jan 27, 2026 at 3:09 PM UTC
I don’t quite know,
where my bones go,
Or how my arm is supposed to bend.
The cold creeks gush,
Stung my fresh cuts,
When we went swimming at world’s end.
Jul 27, 2025
Jul 27, 2025 at 3:46 AM UTC
I cut it because,
I know that I I don’t.
A cold swollen body,
Won’t always float.
Saltwater’s more harsh,
It stings in my throat.
Traversing the seas
In a decommissioned boat
They say when the lungs,
Swallow it in,
You're taken over by calm,
Three scars on your shin.
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 2:25 PM UTC
Such a simple thorn,
Suffocating my nose and,
Clogging up my brain.
May 9, 2025
May 9, 2025 at 6:43 PM UTC
The morning was bright and the sun came out despite the snow still covering the grounds and fields outside the locked ward. I stood by the lounge window and peered out at it. I could see the traffic going past on the road beyond the fields. I was given a cigarette by Eastman the nurse on duty, a thin **** of a man with that look of a monk about him. Bridget got into a row with the Asian nurse about her medication and whether she had taken it or hidden it. I stuffed it up my bahookie, Bridget said, want tae hae a keek? The nurse walked off and Bridget smiled and lit herself a cigarette. After our crap dinner I had an appointment to see the quack. It was the foreign one, our usual was sunning himself some place so i assumed. The quack asked the usual questions and I sat there gazing at his black hair and brown eyes like **** holes, replying now and then, watching Vincent standing by the window moving his finger along the glass, drawing invisible marks. The nurse who sat beside me urged me to reply to the question. How are you feeling now on the new medication? he asked again. Vincent turned and made faces at the quack that made me smile. No different, I said, trying to contain the smile that watching Vincent brought on. The quack looked towards the widow, but couldn’t see Van Gogh standing there. The afternoon dragged like a man pulling a dead elephant through mud. Teatime we had cheese and ham sandwiches and that mud-like cocoa. Lucy sat beside me on the battered brown sofa in the lounge, gazing the the TV, and some boring programme about politics. Bridget said loudly that politicians were a crowd of ******
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 4:07 AM UTC
O my heart is ill
It does not cough
But it does love
Mar 18, 2025
Mar 18, 2025 at 10:35 PM UTC
The bees of Brazil
Their there still
Still the bees
And still the Brazil.
But should they grow ill
The bees of Brazil
Should they grow ill
They'd no longer fulfill
They'd all just be nil.
There'd be no more hunny
It wouldn't be funny
There'd be no more money
It wouldn't be too sunny... anymore.
But today - anyway
They still take their fill
The bees of Brazil
They go where they will
... Until
Mar 4, 2025
Mar 4, 2025 at 9:42 AM UTC
this accidental status, we are all very busy
to be on the lookout for, the odds are not
terrible compared to the lottery, a modest
1 in 300 million, but it’s an easy buy and bust, just a two dollar bill, two lousy singles,
for a legal purchased fantasy that’s
cheaper than a cup of coffee
but finding love is miserable murderous
murmuring mess, can be very expensive, and
exhausting too, physically and mentally,you’re swimming in shallow waters tween razor rocky coral, begging for a slice of your double sized portion of anguish
And yet,
can’t be that hard,
it is a mega billion busyness,
with no cure or satisfactory vaccine,
and the randomness can drive you
mad, make panting to-pack it in,
until your spidey sensnses tingling,
a ketchup and bitter herbs mixture,
and you’re sweating, and it’s 100% anticipation of the well known (!)
unknown risks, this easy
walkway~path in the woods,
leads you on, with marvelous views,
even babbling brooks, till you find
you’ve climbed halfway way up a mountain and to make it to the top,
it’s a rocky boulder strewn,
ankle and heart twisting road that
takes you to the grandest place and plan
oh but, boy,
where the view of the worldscape is only
fantastico, but the only way back down involves throwing yourself into a
quarry pit, full of dangerous chemicals,
that burn scars into your inside parts, invisible wounds so untreatedbly unspeakably bad and incurable
again and again,
and you say stupid things like
I can’t help myself,
what’s a matter daddy,
just want some sugar in my bowl,
and when your neck gets broke,
and it’ll take incredible processing
to just get you to walk again,
and yet
the single
odiferous scent, that amuse bouche on
your lips, and you’ll do it all again for
once monte carlo throw of the dice,
because the odds ain’t that bad,
everbody lives somebody
and given the billions of opportunities walking in just this planet,
even one in a million sounds
pretty good,
even,
very…fair
Nov 2, 2024
Nov 2, 2024 at 1:05 PM UTC
Inquire of my condition,
"I have an ill heart "shall I retort,
For it fails every single one of my logic,
Over a petty whim,
A dull heart is the cause of my misery I have come to know,
But I hope to not grieve,
And for it to not show.
Sep 22, 2024
Sep 22, 2024 at 8:42 AM UTC
made,
can’t seem to get that grasp,
of the continuity needed,
the
regular maintenance schedule
good loving
requires
oh hell, part lazy, the origin of most of-my
manifest manifold
m a s c u l i n e mistakes, permitting
a dario daily “i love you” to get rust covered
by routinization, poor pronouns and missy pronunciation.,
forgetting that
we us and ours
are the foundational
cornerstones of the best love theorems
that were poetic uncovered in Ancient Persia,
or were writ in sanskrit
certainly borrowed by the Bard,
and will this
not be numbered in their
midst
gonna reread some Hafiz tonight
when she asks what do you want
to watch tonight, and maybe if
I am feeling gracious I will reannoint
myself a Reader
as well as a
writer of only love poetry
meanwhile accept this scrap as a sacrificial
offering, to be a burnt offering, consumed
entirely after just one reading
with luck
I will be posting
of flood conditions
tonight
a bio hazard
to be relished
or in the guy
parlance
oh yeah!
Aug 5, 2024
Aug 5, 2024 at 3:11 PM UTC
I felt it
When I spoke
To the judge,
For my son,
Years of shell work
Encasing fear and sanity, cracked with each glance, falling away. Everyone listening.
I was left lost
Like a snail losing it's shell
Mushy and vulnerable
A Pulpy mess.
Was it enough
That I said
Or too much.
So much was left out
The Russian Roulette admission
The thoughts of jumping 15 floors from his hotel
So many letters making up words and paragraphs upon paragraphs
of 15 years.
Throwing out a gun
Into the city trash.
How could I be anything more than a mother
Who let the saving flatten her out of existence. Incoherence and pulp.
Will it be discarded
All that effort
To keep him alive
At my expense.
Is that what mothers do?
I'll never get to return. Life doesn't
Let you.
Mar 5, 2024
Mar 5, 2024 at 12:21 PM UTC
MY LIFE
So now I see life for what it is, a crazy collage of feelings, events and emotions we all endure. Today I saw my mate in Ward 10. Don’t you know that he nearly died as infection gorged his body? They took half of his insides out and he’s hanging in there. I have a truly eventful life – meeting pilots, gothic singers and tattooists. I have tried marriage, promiscuous *** Class A drugs, reckless driving for that crazy buzz of madness – the wrong way to find happiness. The beauty of a delta wing killing machine floors me, and names like Mirage and Mig lift me to the heavens, for I have lived and seen many things in this **** up called life which now seems to last forever but in reality is only a second. Debbie was my soulmate for a short period; every moment was times by ten, in intense excitement. I know it didn’t last but that’s the way it goes, in the game of life – my life.
Oct 13, 2023
Oct 13, 2023 at 9:51 PM UTC
I like to think that when you left me, you went straight to church. you listened to the sermon, but you couldn't stand up when the congregation sang.
I like to think that someday you'll stop trying to wash my scriptures off your hands with holy water.
I like to think that I'm that old mattress you had when you were ten; you always said it held the same familiarity as falling in love with a stranger.
the mattress' holes from falling asleep with lit cigarettes match up perfectly with my alibi.
I'm not to be trusted. I'm an angry human.
I grew up with broken glass in my lungs and cracked ribs.
something inside me snaps even further when the sun shapes your body into a shadow on my bedroom wall.
I want to redefine the word 'fire' with your name, and light candles with you. I want to make my walls sweat. I want you to burn up my ****** clothes. I want you to set my books ablaze. I want you to realize the hardest part is never letting go, but forgetting you ever had a handle.
you can't be the flame and the wick.
you need to leave me to burn down, like the altar candles in the front of the sanctuary, for everyone to see.
sometimes I think god hates me; I'm just a pawn in his and satan's chess game.
small and insignificant in value - I almost want satan to win.
after all,
if you are fire,
hell will feel like home.
but then I remember that I'm tired of controlled burns and scrubbing your soot off of my hands.
so I like to think that when you left me, you went straight to church. you listened to the sermon, but you couldn't stand up when the congregation sang.
and I like to think that Saint Jude called me out of your blaze, and that I left you there with all of your confessions and your communions in your own personal hell.
either way, it's not my cross to bear anymore.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC
I am the mentally ill daughter of a mentally ill daughter.
This is my birth right.
Along with skin that begs to be picked, bags that drag, and attitude given the name
problem.
Gifted eyes that stay red even after it's been hours.
We have been doomed from the start.
I think we've known this from the start.
Maybe thats why we are so angry.
Dec 22, 2021
Dec 22, 2021 at 3:30 PM UTC
with a throated frog
i re-digest
my sickness' exhume
(a thing i did
when piloting
a conversation
most polite)
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 10:12 AM UTC
Turning in this day
Turning over in dismay
For here, as I lay,
Comforted in these sheets
A chill turns to a burning blaze
My mind trapped in a dizzying haze
Aching muscle and raspy tone
Weakness cripples every bone
Shallow comes each breath
That escapes my parched lips
To countless others it foretold death
Filmed in countless clips
But, not for I
Not in this day, not this time
Not in this peculiar rhyme
For here I shall not die
To recover
To grow stronger
Prepare for what may come
The war is not yet over
With hope, it won't be much longer
For this great disease we shall overcome.
- Jay M
June 3rd, 2021
Jun 3, 2021
Jun 3, 2021 at 2:48 PM UTC
sense heavy
i plough at the day slurred
pushing putty steps
aching and unfocused
going about chores
tackling things ...like...
...have i been delivered head trauma?
unbearable attention is drawn by my visible condition
pain inducing communications are fired at me
inquiry that i bat at and parry pathetic
Can I lumber onward
nauseated i
and be
in anyway productive ?
muscular suffering
this astronaut
this deep sea explorer
is
receiving a poor mix of gases
valve
May 8, 2021
May 8, 2021 at 3:32 PM UTC
I discharge ;
a laugh without kindle
(not from the origin of tune
and mastication)
from an orifice of wound
a hack of mushroomy dry fleck :
the taste touches the back of the airways
and takes to the brain in an ail
ideas slurry
my actions blur
I fumble about my living space
my balance
pained ears
fall to floor
an ug at the back my throat
I laugh from all fours
vision reddens
unhinged at the jaw
my neck
shoulder muscles punting
my logged and leaden head lolling
a laugh of hurt
a ******* of saliva
detonates on the carpet
is there blood in that ?
sickness on the verge
of being brutally provided
"So dramatic !"
my wife passes me a glass of fruit juice
and an aspirin
preventing the transformation
a gentle chiding
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 12:49 AM UTC
Another day passes by,
With me not knowing why.
A grin is plastered on my face,
Like a maniac running from something he hates;
yet I still enjoy the feeling of the chase.
The tension made it an ill-looking smile;
then the idea was washed over me.
I feel this way because...
I was useless.
I was useless yet did nothing to solve this problem.
I'll idly do something as I remember all the things that should've been done,
It haunts me
every second,
minute,
and hour.
I was a menace,
A menace to myself and everyone;
Felt like an actor reading a script.
But then again, someone said that life and all is like a play
And the world is a stage.
It makes everything feel surreal,
Like a living dream.
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 9:09 PM UTC