#neurosis
Stand beside me, Friend
The one I have always feared
The one that lives here.
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 9:49 PM UTC
not florescent but covered by a translucent screen,
my tense and aching frame washed in a
dull desaturating blue glow.
streetlights speed past neurotic eyes,
like worries of friends i haven't spoken to,
and every awful thing i've ever
said to my mother.
i think of you, of course,
the way i catch my reflection
in the bus window:
a glimpse—terrified and fascinated.
i wring my hands,
a nervous habit when they're
feeling empty.
everything i want is
always at my door,
and everything i fear
is never far behind.
why won't anyone let me hold them
from halfway across the room?
stay sitting across the aisle,
as mysterious to me
as any other tired stranger.
i see you clearly
but can never tell what you're thinking.
Apr 2, 2022
Apr 2, 2022 at 1:05 AM UTC
Springboarding
captured children,
locked in
vending machines,
like princes in the tower.
Swiping the barcode
imprinted upon their foreheads,
placing them in playpens
--free range, of course--
and listening to the stories
that caused them
to,
in this precise order,
fill,
spill,
chill...
To empty their lungs,
to rage against the machine
that first boiled blood
into the deflated veins
of their youthful tendencies.
Birthing a furlough,
for when
the wild
and profane
wish for scream time:
babes in the wood,
before figureheads to die for.
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 10:17 PM UTC
She lived on
the outskirts of sanity,
took up jogging
to outrun the rush
of other voices,
burned a sick day
organizing her own criticisms,
shaved her legs and edges
for practice sake,
trimmed her disorders
as "normal" girls do,
bought a fancy dress
to envy but never wear,
made marks on the calendar
to believe she had places to be,
like the local
coffee shop,
where they serve
a favorite flavor,
somewhat stable,
somewhat frenzy.
Mar 16, 2020
Mar 16, 2020 at 7:54 PM UTC
Art might be beautiful as long as it's true.
I might hope I'm Sylvia Plath.
But at the end of the day I'm just an emotional wreck hoping my neurosis sounds like poems.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 11:23 PM UTC
Stoical heart yet the urge to cry
Unable to shead a tear,
'Cause the biggest fear to open up and try
Made me to drown myself in my own state of anxiety.
Did the broken soul find a hug?
Not a single person cared to bug.
I am not what has happened to me
Bounded by fate or dejection
Choices and rejection
Part and parcel of life.
I am what I chose to be.
I'll break and I'll fall
I'll rise and fly
Till I find my wings soared high.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 4:49 PM UTC
None of us gets paroled
From the prison cells we lock ourselves into.
So that we all can fit together inside
These jigsaw lives that we lead
.
Which of course, eventually all blow apart.
We are merely the fragments waiting to be reassembled.
Every moment of thought is but a small drop in time.
Each piece fits the next piece.
Although we may try to avoid,
The murmurs of our own thoughts.
It is our hearts that yawn and awaken slowly
From their long winter night’s sleep.
You and I are mere mortals,
Who dreamt of a life without end.
We are the ones who make up immortality.
For the sake of seeking sweet comforts and sad joys.
This is the story we tell ourselves
Whilst slumping back to our cells.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 5:11 PM UTC
Telltale signs of paranoia ***** at the hackles that run from head
(to heart)
down the spine
drown the mind
Psychotic neurotic autistic artistic
Imagination whirls like wind through the pines and
The hair along my spine
Is standing
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 9:29 PM UTC
Slither within my spine
Wither, within my mind
Doctor Jekyll, Mr. Hyde
One coin, two sides
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
Hello there!
It’s me, your prize-winning, intellectual, “gifted” brain!
I’m here to tell you that everything you’re doing is wrong.
Remember that conversation that you thought went well?
You’re wrong. Think again.
Oh, and also, all of your friends secretly hate you.
You annoy them all.
In fact, the apparitions probably lurking around the corner hate you too.
And they have weapons.
Also, you should probably just give up on life.
I mean, you’re a terrible person.
Honestly, I can’t tell you a single good thing about yourself.
How do you ignore the fact that everyone hates you?
One more thing.
Are you suuuuuure your God is real?
Because I’m not.
And… even if he is, you kind of **** as a believer and as a person anyways, so you’re kind of *******
Well, nice chatting with you!
Go on. Have a good day!
And don’t forget what I told you…
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
i miss the dogfight
of our teeth squaring off
in a shiny mirror.
you could call our canines
moon kernels or portents,
but the sentiment
is sharper. the poem
tautology to a bracelet
of crescent dents.
self-portrait: light
shadow, shadow, light.
a plane reflecting
other planes, an edge
biting an edge, biting
an edge, bitten.
the bracelet tautology
to a skyline sans sky,
one wedge of evening
held in your periphery.
i press my fingers
into a warm glass throat.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
"Department of space' a signboard shouts aloud
to my perplexity of that moment, it adds
before mind's eye I see the great enigma personified
and try to reason,"Oh! fathomless vastitude, mostly dark
what need you've this quaint building, that before you
would be a frightened Indian bride at her first night?"
Yes, the puny little "department" is not all space, it implies,
has a purpose limited than how it sounds: grandiose!
one doesn't even has any inkling,
what all these means, but a scribe, I have a thing
with all these seeming inanities, that's the funny part.
Marveling it's esoteric architecture and mulling over
the concept of bringing the limitless to the minuscule,
just enough for a department of government to deal with,
I wait for bus, a personification of impatience, curse the circumstances,
fear reaching late for my appointment, with an eminent scientist.
Fuming against the haphazard, public transport system in this town,
while appreciating the red brick architecture, acts contrary
and make me a bundle of nerves.
Then she 'happens', that's the word
wasn't I looking for an escape from it all?
Freeze, i did, she, to be precise, her figure was
nothing less than a show stopper,one should admit.
Her dress, gladly left nothing to guess, and those dark eyes
from the other end of the bus stop eagerly sought me
as if I am assigned officially to pay all her pending bills!
From all round swarms of humming birds, eager admiring eyes
were chasing her, the moment was an explosion of chrysanthemums ,
for me, she and I , two spirited dancers on a stage,
(a scene fashioned in my mind, unfolded there ,it seemed)
Am i not to honor commitment as a responsible journalist?
an appointment was fixed with the nuclear physicist,
with great difficulty it was done, on the way my car conked,
at the nick of the moment, i am here eagerness and anxiety
combined , fighting many demons at once, give me a break..
Yet here i am, finding time to fall in love, like yet another accident,
how fickle is my mind, I'd make any one submit
in an argument, but this red, ripened lips,are alluring
infest my thoughts, those dark eyes plead for love of course,
makes me feel like running to her, true love may appear even here.
at that moments of dilemma I was another Buridan's ***
wants to do both but can't do one even;
and precisely then my cell phone rings,
on the other end the nuclear scientist sounds apologetic,
my heart started to pound in my ears, does she want to cancel
the appointment for the day, postponed to another day?
I didn't listen her words, those eyes were scorching me alive.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 5:45 AM UTC
The things that I surmise
With my wide open eyes
Are that I know absolutely nothing of my place in the cosmos
And I don't mean to boast but I understand alot more than most
But is this a gift or a curse, an inner voice asks whats the cost?
This mind of mine, constantly fixated on the why
The constant nagging of the pursuit of truth ticking away with the time
Questions often asked come to no finite resolution
They just fill my head with paralyzing smog and pollution
Should i long to have the splendid peace of the simple fool, no
This is my blessing and my burden, and my mind is my tool.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
Verily I wait for you,
Steady as a ******
Guiding his vessel
Through choppy, blackened seas.
I remain steadfast;
A sentinel by the telephone.
Hours pass and I remain,
Fidelity has hardened me
To the passing of time.
All I do is wait for you,
To hear your voice,
To see your face,
To make you real again.
How much longer must I stay here?
I wonder without moving.
I doubt but never waver.
At the risk of bitter heartache,
I wait to be rewarded by your "hello."
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC