#mental-illness
We live in a superficial world
of shattered identities
and
a loss of reality
my senses are
Numb
We do not know what it is to feel :
anything
sadness
has died
in cipralex
anxiety
has drowned
in clonazepam
my cheap, glass arm
was about to break
in the basement of a house
that i tried so hard to call home
I am
utter
sheer
nonsense
we will live together,
and I,
I will die alone
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 1:14 PM UTC
i am sinking
further into the darkened depths that is my mind
my heart,
my lungs,
my mind,
collapse
i try shake this illness that
holds my existence captive,
a prisoner in my own mind
i long for the days where my breaths were sighs
of relief,
of happiness
i ache for the moments where
life was not a gloomy mess.
where the sun seeped in through the window
and everything felt okay
will i ever feel whole again?
will i ever rid of this disease?
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
You would never think
that someone so young
could deal with such demons
speaking such foul things in their ears
You would never think
that someone so young
could feel as though
no one loves them
and that there's no place for them
in this world
You would never think
that someone so young
could deal with such a horrible thing
that is a mental illness
because mental illnesses
effect everyone no matter the age
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 10:36 PM UTC
i used to think that confidence
was never really common sense
thought it was like lost innocence
it was something you earned
but you make me feel so worth it
w/o showering me in compliments
you’ve awaken all of my senses
i’m feeling alive
don’t tell me that fate is a lie
i’ll believe in it until i die
doesn’t matter long as i try
to be better than i am
to be bigger than my issues
i’m crying away all the tissues
you’ve never said “i’ll fix you”
you’ve just said “i’m here”
sometimes the way you look at me
i swear it’s just make-believe
but i live for this lucid dream
that keeps me wide awake
you’re what i write about when i can’t sleep
i know that talk is freaking cheap
but your words
have more worth
than any dollar bill.
i’m letting my thoughts spill.
your space, i’d gladly fill.
don’t tell me that fate is a lie
i’ll believe in it until i die
doesn’t matter long as i try
to be better than i am
to be bigger than my issues
i’m crying away all the tissues
you’ve never said “i’ll fix you”
you’ve just said “i’m here”
my head on your shoulder
my heart is warm my hands are colder
i’ll just go ahead and hold your
hand to spend away the time
lights out, my eyes won’t shut
no more sadness, yeah, i’ve had enough
this insomniac’s not waking up
this dream is here to stay
don’t tell me that fate is a lie
i’ll believe in it until i die
doesn’t matter long as i try
to be better than i am
to be bigger than my issues
i’m crying away all the tissues
you’ve never said “i’ll fix you”
you’ve just said “i’m here”
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 10:00 PM UTC
Where you go I go
But still I will never see
What keeps you up at night
As you softly scream hauntedly
For you I will always care
Even if the sky shattered and fell
I would be there not letting a shard touch your hair
And vowing to make the heavens wish for hell
Where you go I go
But sill you forbid me to ask
From knowing what you know
What happened in your past
For you I am devastatingly aware
Of your sanity and your pain
Life is so cruel and unfair
I wish I could end your suffering alone in your brain
Where you go I go
Where ever it may be
If any one is going to hurt you
I would do it the most softly
We can finally take comfort in the end
And that I am no longer prolonging your pain
To the heavens I pray our souls will send
And that we will be blessed with the chance to start again
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC
It may start with not wanting to wake,
Soon progressing to not doing homework.
Grades dropping,
Self esteem toppling.
You feel dumb, and then you feel numb.
You think "Is any of this even worth it?"
You're filled with doubt as you begin to pout,
But then you remember the small things.
When your favorite band comes on the radio,
When you finally draw that second eye correctly,
The sound of applause at the end of a play.
Even as simple as that new episode of a show you watch.
And then you ask once again: "Is any of this even worth it?"
And it truly is.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
Oh son of beginners mistake
Son of pure unclean intention
Son of mothers midnight run to bar
Son of broken swan wing
Son of brokenness
Son of lack of sunlight
Son of ***** laundry
Boy of unknowing
Boy of drinking antifreeze
Boy of missing eyed crows
Boy of missing childhood
Boy of sorrow
Boy of stitches
Boy of afraid of manhood
Boy of afraid
Young God of suicide attempts
God of lying to himself that he ever wanted to die
God of lying to himself
God of lying
God of unholiness
God of shotgun misfire
God of unkempt basements
God of homeless dogs
God of death and life all at the same time
You ain't no God. You are a poser with wings and a capital letter to begin your wretched name.
You won't be happy when you die, you are split between so many titles and you do not know which to choose. You are no one. No one. You are absolutely no one.
(Say, do you know the route to the nearest bar? I'm going to drink myself open, flesh off bone, apathetic skeleton, closest thing to happy. I'm going to drink myself away from you, this world, myself.)
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
I must run from my thoughts to uphold my happiness.
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 9:59 PM UTC
You're the kid that asks how the cotton candy skies got that color
except now it's all blood red
"I guess God killed all the angels" he said
and I think:
baby my wrists are rags, ripped up rags,
and needles give you bad memories,
and my minds a black, empty, hole but it's still so ******* heavy
just a weight that no matter how much you want to say you can, you just cannot carry
and you need to stay alive
because there's no spots for angels anymore when they die
but I just can't bring myself to say it
and he knows people only remember things about me
like the fact that I like whiskey, and my suicidal tendencies
a lining of lightbulbs
infused on the wire in my brain
he says Jesus was like any other psychopath ,
just a normal schizophrenic
and if there's a God
we pray for him to fix the problem he's created
what if heavens just like hell in the form of a maze
golden maps leading you to places you aren't any happier
acid trips into abandon attics,
blonde babes with tied up hair
and yellow teeth
cracked out, veins
complaining that the life they hated ever changed
he says I ruined the calm after the storm that no one lives to see
the ending of the bible
that no one has enough attention in them to read
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
Day 1: You're always shaking, you're like the grass under the whirring blades of a lawnmower. I laugh at that. You're so funny when you can't breathe. You're so funny with your scars, hidden beneath sleeves like white soldier grave stones, underneath a blanket of shaking grass, tall grass, dead grass, laughing grass, long forgotten names. Like, like, firing squad death row under sheets of blood- no- fallen brick walls. Civilians, awaiting rescue. You tug at your shirt awkwardly, I am staring.
Day 6: What are you asking me now? What? Them? No, they don't hate you. The stars with molars, canines, and needles out their sides don't at least. You're asking me about the fish? Scales, fins, aquatic? The star fish with self-esteem issues doesn't mind you. He's just selfish. The narcissistic parrot fish loves you as much as her own reflection. The high strung cat fish is kinda infatuated. He's something else. The shark? She thinks you're **** but don't tell her I said that. You won't? You never do. I like that about you.
Day 23: You been okay? You haven't been asking much about me lately. Me? Funny you should ask. I'm not sick. Not now. Haven't tried to bash my skull in in a week, it's progress. You? Oh **** that's too bad. I wish you'd stop opening up your forearms. I wish you'd just stop popping pills like after Chinese food dinner mints, bursting them in your stomach to spread like fog, milky white to drown out whatever your drawing from your wrists.
Day 72: You're drunk again? Jesus, what will it take for me to leave you? You've already bitten the hand that feeds too many times you sloppy wolf puppy you. I mean, sure I waved it in front of your face but don't you know your own teeth? ********* quit throwing up and get back to work, paint me a pretty picture pathetic ***** Put down the knife or broken glass or razor or whatever the **** I don't want to do that anymore it stopped being interesting after like, the fifth time. Yeah I know I said I cared! I know I said I wouldn't stop caring, wouldn't leave you! But have you ******* seen yourself? Go ahead kid, count those scars, make some more, whatever you do in that basement of yours. I can't stand you! I can't stand your stupid brain, you're always crying what's up with that? How old are you now? Right. My point exactly. Jesus Christ, shut up for once.
Day 95: No wait- **** sorry. I didn't realize. Hey, you know what sweetheart? Let's shake hands. Your end of the deal? I won't be the reason you **** yourself, you stop making your arms look like bulldog wrinkle jowls, or like, sliced bread, cracked sidewalk, blistered vein soup, running like drippy little kid noses, whatever- just make it stop. I won't tell you all the ways you fall short in 3 words or less. Deal? Deal.
Day 103: Just kid- keep breathing. I won't do it for you. See ya', have fun ******* yourself up and over.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:57 PM UTC
she
(*her 2am moods
were monotone
dialogue
on the receiver*)
is at her loudest
in sepia photographs;
fake smiles,
like shotgun blast;
her shrapnel days
fall silently
in-between
cheap perfume
bottles on the
night-stand.
in the drawer is
every memento
she seldom mentions
(*empty, jejune...
hushed
frustrations*).
with each exhale,
her pillow fills with
crumpled words
(*embellishment,
a waking hour's only
comfort...
an insomniac's
internal monologue*).
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC
my lungs are full of water
i know I'm drowning but I'm trying not to be an inconvenience
my throat is stuck and i can't sleep at night
my anxiety is yanking my hair out
and my headaches are breaking my bones
and i am trying not to be an inconvenience
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 1:31 AM UTC
my blue gooseflesh bores me
i lost my lens and i want to build a wall between my body and my blood
i painted all my nails so i would stop biting them
and i bit the polish off
i told everyone i loved winter
every year before i felt at home
i hate winter
it cracks my bones and i overthink everything there is to think about
i think in monochrome pastel
and it isn't as poetic as it seems-looks-sounds
when you feel like your whole body is turning against you
and your bones are shivering with a garish black
tar paint for blood
if god exists
i want a ************* explanation
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 1:27 AM UTC
i didn’t want their
endless white
with their
cold rooms,
and cold coats,
and cold pen-tips
i didn't want their
sunken IV bags that
resembled
Jesus Christ, or
Mother Theresa
i didn’t want the
pale noise
hammering about
inside my head...
i didn’t want it’s sterile
sadness
humming a lobotomy
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
I can't
I can’t always be there for everyone
in the perfect little way they've invented
every single time they have a problem
believe me, i want to be.
but sometimes even though its irrational
i just need to be there for myself to keep my head above water
and im sorry for that.
but ****
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
Apparently she was a mermaid;
there wedding was
to be a plastic Malibu affair.
Her dress, a bedazzled, gaudy
sarong with leis for a train, and coral
bits for the rings…
She said she was addicted to pearls, –
ate them like candy,
until about a year ago when they plucked
her from the ocean,
and gave her pills instead.
“Entertain her for a bit,” the other nurse said.
So I picked up the Ken doll,
and let Barbie buy another pet dolphin.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
the house was painted
a soft hue. an old tobacco trap;
discolored white where
pictures once hung.
in the kitchen, grease stains,
faded bluebird wallpaper —
long since ceased it's song,
and one cast-iron skillet off to the side.
pale and forgotten,
the fine china shrieks!
my barefoot innocence
is lost as the cold-colored
porcelain eats at the floor.
sometimes when I lay there covered in
turpentine, stars usually topple
out of the cabinet,
and my gas stove aspirations are botched.
the sink drain moans with the silent
invectives of an impure saint…
her rosary still atop the mantle.
just outside, a stone angel
that smells of lilies, —
savagely eats rosebuds over
an autumn bonfire.
from time to time
her face is one of lament…
it follows me from room to room,
and my hands shake for hours
while holding little antique figurines
in a basket full of milkweed…
they’d tuck at the curtain,
their little music box voices
complain about her eyes...
they'd scurry up the ivy on the side of
the house to avoid her
disappointed glance…
there was a sad wingbeat as
I stepped out on the balcony to collect
them one last time.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
It’s gripping, its hold on me growing tighter
I can’t keep it out much longer, it’s flowing
This fog is creeping through my mind
One of a kind, it’s there to remind me
To hurt me, heal me, shield me
Pure insanity sends me reeling, am I healing?
It rends me in two, leaves me checking on you
I don’t know what to do with you,
Two of a kind, birds of a feather
A daughter and a mother, struggling to recover
Struggling together, together will they stay?
Though this hurts, my heart barely beats
I’ll be there to dry your tears and kiss your cheeks
As I feel the insanity setting in
Don’t worry about me, it’s you that’s worsening.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
Nobody knew she was
losing herself underneath
this heavy cloud
which became
a part of her,
It would always
pour down once
she left her home,
The birds would follow her
wherever she went
giving her guidance
without her looking
in the right direction,
Swooping and gliding
over her as she sat
alone
From this day,
she is free
protecting the other lost birds
that want to come home
to where they last were
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
then i don’t mind not remembering my
name, or what year it is,
or what new ********* styles are in…
i don’t mind mumbling, cross-eyed
with **** running down my leg
for the rest of my life…
i don’t mind a dilapidated hospice,
because it’s like you’re some angry
******* god who demanded more
than a ****** sacrifice.
so take this mass of jumbled ****
make angels cry,
make the devil envious,
and make the specters of yourself get
ghost as i demand ice-picks through
the eyes that you lied and said
were beautiful,
because i don’t know what to
do any longer with the botched
******** you’ve left me here with.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
Antidepressants and gin
Made me feel like a fairy again;
Fragmented bottles protrude
Through my wings, off-color and crude!
My life to lose;
Ode to *****
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
An autopsy would reveal that I
swallowed too many stars,
and every incision would look
like hideously-done cursive.
The busing inside and out
would be treated like ink blots,
and my congealing blood would
scream about how cold the room is.
My liver would float up like a dead fish
covered in alcohol, and bad rants,
and my eyes would roll sideways,
and make the med students think
that they were following them
around the sterile-white of the room,
or they’d direct them where to put
the next piece of the leftovers as
they dissect me like the post-suicidal
frog that I am…
Like a frog? They’d probably bathe me
in formaldehyde…
That’s found in cigarettes, ya know?
I feel like cancer anyway, so
I gave them a shot or two, or three.
They’ll probably find those too in my
lungs; pickled, puffy, and black
with helium soot that made me fly
when everyone around me refused
to hold me up any longer.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
There in the vines
running down my spine,
are overgrown vistas,
and rooted enigmas
of the mind.
At my wrist —
the burning kissed;
pools in my palms;
red water of painful psalms
shrouded in mist.
Heme-less, desired;
nature, devoured;
draining forget-me-nots
won’t clot.
My nymph has retired.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
One day while traversing in a far off land,
I happened upon a path in the road,
With no signs or direction it cut through the mountains,
And seemed to stretch into another world.
Walking along the basalt path,
I saw the world become a colorful plain,
Stretching and abounding in every which way,
I seemed to float on a river that was not even there.
And suddenly, I came across a great tree,
With a large snake a twain the branches,
And beneath in a shallow spring,
Were draped men with eyes red from crying, and faces dark for lack of sleep.
I approach the tree and humbly bow,
Drawing attention from the snake,
I hear a soft hiss near my ear asking,
“Why do you bow to me?”
I say: Good snake, I mean no harm,
I simply bow to avoid you biting me, and injecting your hateful poison,
For I am trespassing upon your land,
And only wish to be polite.
The snake laughed as only a snake can,
And leaned down to me,
“Young man you are welcome upon my land,
For you see these men are here by choice.
These men are here by choice and theirs alone,
And I shall not lie,
They begged for me to poison them,
Because misery is their new life.
My poison has rotted their brains to miserable husks,
And now they relax and wallow oblivious here,
Thrown here by those they did once trust.
I sit and watch them because I am curious to know.
I am curious to see if they simply forget where they are,
Let go of the side and fall into the pool and die?
Or if they will give in to my poison,
And keel over and die?
However none of them have let go yet,
For as miserable as they are they know they are not alone in this pool,
Even though they do not feel it they know there are others here,
And misery is company best served.”
I continued along until I saw two shapes in the distance,
As I neared I saw what seemed to a large stone,
And the other, from the look of the shadow,
A needle.
When I approached I saw two things at an impasse.
What I first mistook as a stone was a large cloak,
That was in fact occupied,
But by whom I could not see.
The other was simply a mirror,
A plain old mirror,
With I humbly took time to admire,
My own visage.
To which I said Good Morning,
And I was echoed in reply,
And to my surprise,
Whoever was in the cloak spoke as well.
“ Do not look into the mirror,
Do not speak, or it will speak back to you,
And with every word you say, it will twist and repeat,
Until you no longer know, if the mirror is you or if you are the mirror.”
I then turned to look at the piece of glass,
And it seemed to explode before my eyes,
Until it became a plethora of eyes, eyes that were mine,
And within each one I could see a malice and hatred that was beyond my design.
This creature then, I ventured to my quiet companion,
Why is it here?
“It is here because it hopes that one day,
A man will come and in his loneliness begin conversing with it.
And while they converse and his loneliness is eased,
The creature will creep oh so silently,
Into his head, and will whisper,
All the dark things he has dreamed since he was made.
And he will whisper all day and night,
Until the man can no longer distinguish his own voices,
From the ones in his head.”
I suddenly became afraid and turned my back on the demonic glass.
So why are you here, I asked the cloaked man.
“I alone can keep this beast here,
Because I will never speak to it.
And as long as I am silent towards it, it can never conquer me.
You see, I am scared,
I am afraid of people; I find them difficult to trust,
And what they may do to me worries me so,
Just talking to you now, is making my hands shake.
So silent and afraid of people I may be,
By sitting here I hope that I may do the world some good yet,
Do not weep for me; I am lonely, yes,
But I can only believe, that it is better to be alone and hale, than among others and hurt.”
I tried to offer the poor man, a sign of my appreciation,
But he shied away from my hand,
And not to seem rude, but when I looked back at the mirror,
I ran as fast as my legs would carry me.
I then came, to a sea of tall wheat,
A field, a beautiful field,
Endless it stretched beyond my eyes,
And seemed to meet the horizon.
As I was walking through the grass,
Almost lost in a trance in the summer sky,
I saw a glorious sight.
A man dancing through the grass.
His face was shining with a smile I so rarely see,
And his features were more than a man, an Olympian was he,
He leaped and laughed, and sang aloud,
As the wheat erupted in sweet smelling smoke, from the fire that alit were he fell.
I approached him,
Astounded by his glee,
And asked him of his fire,
And how such a phenomenon could be.
He hugged me, in such a tight embrace,
And roared with such laughter when he saw the surprise on my face,
“My friend, it is the summer and such a happy time!
I am alive; I am afire with the sun’s light!
And as the sun shines, so do I
But I must make the time last, from morning to night,
Because I am ever aware that with every moment passed,
Winter is sooner to grasping me yet.
And when winter comes,
My smiles will vanish with sun,
And my body will become frozen,
A black and tenebrous mess, for I will always be close to death.
But do not fret, for now, I am alive!
So let us dance, and sing
Drink and eat,
For no matter how time passes, the sun will always rise again.”
No matter how much fun it could have been,
My friend was sad I could not stay,
And so I walked on,
And found the ocean that has no name.
So I passed underneath all the magnificent waves,
And saw all the faces of people I loved forever,
As I drifted towards the horizon,
And passed between night and day.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC