#worldmentalhealthday
Open the door
to my obsidian
And wash some light
Into a corner
And I'll find you there
By Darren Wall
Oct 11, 2025
Oct 11, 2025 at 9:34 AM UTC
I plumped myself down in a corner
Sat there for what it seemed like forever
My expressions an inscrutable mixture
Tormented in a blazing invisible fire
My whimpers and groans leaped
higher and higher
My misery and distress outpoured
and my pain screamed and roared
Scared to utter a word or speak
I only managed a shriek and a squeak
On this October bluey night
I simply wished to disappear from sight
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 9:57 AM UTC
A monster lives inside the dark bottomless pit that I have in my chest.
It feeds off of my emotions, it feeds on everything that keeps me sane.
At nights, I feel it’s hands tightly gripping around my throat.
I don’t see its face but I feel it’s evil smirk as it watches me gasp and struggle for air.
Tears run down my eyes and I scream for help. But my cries are lost like echoes bouncing in between the valleys of two mountains.
It crushes me right to my bone; until I give up and wait for it to end my misery.
But just when I close my eyes to embrace death like a dear old friend, I feel the air rushing into my shrunken lungs
And I know that it won’t let me go easy. I know, it enjoys watching me suffer.
And I’m now stuck in this loop of suffering that seems to have no end.
So I wake up every morning and cover my scars with masks that are deemed “normal” and are acceptable to the world.
I smile and laugh while the monster crushes my lungs to death every day.
I know that only one of us can survive this fight.
It’ll end with the death of the monster or with the death of me one day.
Hi. I am sorry if you find the piece disturbing. If you are fighting anxiety, self-doubt, or if you can't seem to figure out your thoughts, please seek help.
Your mental well-being should be your only priority.
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 9:18 AM UTC
My dog-soul forgets to feed
and starves black,
paces circles for a bed
and with dead weight,
settles
thought and action,
usually smitten with intricacies,
are quietly smothered to nothing
a flat purgatory
scored with white noise, overcast
rendered in a pauper’s palette
on a canvas with no edge
ticks remain untocked
until at some distance
a mechanism is rewound
and a leash jangled
for an ear to lazily lift again
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 8:17 AM UTC
Do you need someone?
On this World Mental Health Day
Does someone need you?
Oct 9, 2020
Oct 9, 2020 at 3:58 PM UTC
Creeping up
A silent foe
Breaking him down
Nice and slow
Crushing all
Hopes and dreams
Bravery fading
silent screams
Fighting on
War and peace
Just to get
A partial release
A little confidence
Suddenly lost,
One step forwards
The ultimate cost
Walls built
A safe distance
Hiding the world
From his existence
A man in a cave
Keeping away
Building the courage
To battle today
Invisible injury
A runaway train
Mental illness
Significant pain
Weakness…
It's how it's perceived
Colleagues find…
It hard to believe
Trauma consumes
His fragile mind
He seeks a spot
That's hard to find
Lack of remorse
Absent support
Pushing him
To obvious thoughts
Away from the public
Away from the noise
Away from the world
He said his goodbyes
Discovered alone
Discovered too late
Discovered the body
Discovered his fate
Tears shed
Guilt ridden hearts
Talking history
Picking him apart
Realisation
Lack of due care
Former colleague...
Empty chair
By Darren Wall
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 4:34 PM UTC
It's ok to worry about yourself,
It's ok to ask for help,
It's ok to need a hand,
It's ok to talk,
It's ok to not be ok!
By; Nida Mahmoed
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 6:22 AM UTC
.
*Isolation explored and typified
by the corona of the sun,
forever within touching distance,
but never to be as one.
An absence of a true connection
exists between the pattern,
loneliness drifting in deepest space,
distant like the rings of Saturn.*
© Pagan Paul (08/10/17)
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 3:50 AM UTC
Why is it that most of us men baulk
At the idea of having to talk
About issues we find troubling
Even when we know we’re not coping?
Why to men does it make much more sense
To say nothing, suffer in silence?
To shut out all those who might just care?
To refuse all the supports out there?
Why do we find it so hard to speak?
Do we feel reaching out makes us weak?
Do we think men must always be strong?
Maybe that’s where we are going wrong!
What a pity, what an awful shame
That our feelings we fear so to name,
That we can’t discuss our darkest fears,
That we are afraid of our own tears.
Oh when will the penny ever drop,
That this way of thinking has to stop?
For it shows great strength, courage indeed,
To ask for help in your hour of need.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:16 AM UTC