"administer" poems
she had always said
her favorite color was yellow
for the girl with buttery skin and crystal eyes
it seemed rather fitting
yellow was the color of sunshine
and the color of her hair
after it had been bleached by summer
it was the color of the bumblebees
that drank from her favorite flowers
flowers that now
line her grave
she told you
her favorite color was yellow
because she knew you needed someone
radiant with light
to ease the depth
of your own darkness
so she said
when autumn arrived
you could watch the ground
become littered with yellow leaves
together
when you asked what color
lie beneath her skin
she told you it was yellow
she made herself believe
her body was freckled from stardust
and not from the amber glow
of cigarette burns
she still said
her favorite color was yellow
so she could continue being the light
in your colorless world
soon enough
your favorite color was yellow too
but not for the same reasons
she fell in love with it
you only saw yellow vaguely
in the form of teeth
stained from tobacco and too much coffee
smiling grimly through cracked lips
dripping poisoned honey
you guilded the word ¨love¨
with muted ochre lies
and now
she no longer feels the warmth
that once emanated
from her favorite color
she no longer tastes
the sweetness of butterscotch
and papaya on your lips
for you left her with nothing but
the sour residue of lemons and bile
as your gentle breath
extinguished her golden flames
and reduced her heart to ash
and now
she realizes that bumblebees
can also administer a piercing sting
and as she watches the sunset
with its amber hues
she no longer sees
the color yellow
x.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 12:14 AM UTC
It's unfortunate that Parisians
Are very hard to bear,
In terms of flash obsequiousity,
They drive me to despair!
And patience is an attribute
I don't profess to have
To mercifully administer
When accents veer to Slav.
Baltics look like jellyfish,
The Germans are obscene
And loud and overbearing
But the Swiss are very clean.
Italians are a swarthy lot
Who gourmandize on food
And sacrifice their suavity
By being impudently crude.
The Spanish are no better,
In fact they are probably worse,
For obsessing in the blood sports
I actually rate them in reverse.
Starchiness is British
They're convoluted to the core,
The Old Boy system's lost it's sheen
Aspirants flock to it no more.
The Yanks are looking slightly crass
Whilst fighting foreign wars,
Their pinky held up squeaky clean
To call "foul" to China's flaws.
China sits inscrutably
Holding all the cards
Waiting for the moment
To strike beneath the guards.
India and Pakistan
Are squabbling like kids
The uproar over Kashmir
Rates them lower than the Yids.
The Yids are walking tightropes
With Iran's nuclear ******
Whilst currying Yank approval,
Eventual bombing is a must.
The Dutch behave so anally
They're always proven right
When faced with rigid negatives
They blanch with haunches tight.
But not the Argentineans
They love to dance and flirt,
To chase the senorita
Cavorting in the scarlet skirt.
The South Pacific's wallowing
They're adrift from World affairs
Oz's self preoccupation
Mirrors Kiwi's vacant stares.
Africa's way past comment
Lost to heat and dust,
Warfare, **** and pillage
And the rest decayed by rust.
Eskimos are OK
Clean living on the ice
The population static,
Zer-O pollution's nice!
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
14 April 2009
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 12:08 AM UTC
Heart beating, brain waves erratic
Depending on another to prove you can be loved
Over think like a new theorem
Numbers & symbols & calculations in your head
Try to look back through all the little details you missed
Are you kidding yourself?
Seeking for honesty
Hoping it’s in your favor
Everything seems fine
When you are together
Search for a sign, an inkling
Why do I try to reach out?
Stretching so far just to feel you energy
It’s so strong
Your lips, administer the strongest of narcotics
Paralyzed with your being
When we part, temporarily of course
My vitals change
And my heart & head battle
For reassurance
You make me delusional
The scent of you more powerful than a magnetic field
As you caress my body, stroke my face
I am no longer on this planet
I float with the spirits above
And sadly it cannot be bought
Release me from this paranoia
This addiction
Why so strongly do I fall into your force field?
Is my pull less intense?
Or is it that others just possess an energy more appealing?
You are nothing to be fooled around with
A different kind of beauty not in my realm
But in a parallel
To bring you into my circle would be an extra force in itself
But the lights around you shine so bright
That I’d gladly take the fall
Use my inner being to fight for you
But when it comes back to calculations and figures
One tight hold directly on another cannot compete with various forces in multiple directions
Even superheroes only deal with one villain an episode
Release me from this intangible pull
Because my revolving fire burns too bright
for this ill-distributed chemical bonding
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 7:07 PM UTC
Ulrich finds comfort in knowing
he could seek a lethal dose of medication
to hasten his death.
Ulrich was standing
next to the governor on Monday afternoon,
sun pouring in the oaky office,
as he signed
the bill into law.
Doctors and hospitals
and state officials
are scurrying to prepare.
Soon, the state Health Department
will get forms ready.
The lethal medication
is a liquid that the patient must
self-administer.
Hastening death;
akin to
yanking out feeding tubes
and removing respirators,
is not suicide, they say.
The underlying illness
would be listed
as the cause of death.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC
This is number six of ORLOK's poems
When I see a fat smiling face
On a plump young ******
I am consumed with lust
To rip out her neck
And to **** the lifeblood
From her throbbing veins.
And then my drooling jaws
Slide down her floppy ****
Heading southwards
To where the business is at
For a further tasty mouthful
From both ends.
Finally I administer
The coup de grâce
Which is to say
Putting it bluntly
Eight inches of vampiric ****
Up the dirtbox.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
My hands are trembling more than usual,
so I have altered my coffee to a camomile tea.
I administer everything as if it were medicine;
a chemist punctuating his day with
guilty cigarettes and vague homoeopathy.
*It's all ******** I know-
but whatever gets you through the day...*
In the season of advent, my fingers are bitten
down to the quick; throat seared with
half-functioning lighters and fragile matches;
I can scarcely operate either in this state.
The fairy-lights turn the high-street to a runway.
*But all I see are charity shops
interceded with bookies and coffee houses.*
This home-town exists to keep up my interest
in finding some purpose. A path to eventual escape
from all of these old bonds and ties,
pinning me down with memories of ***
and all of the street-names I have learned by rote.
*I'm treading water here-
living in the comfort of a sink-hole.*
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
If you’re feeling sinister
Have your mom call the minister
Nail you to your splintered cross
Let him purify your thoughts
Regurgitate old bible verses
To further rid you of your curses
Leave your woes and your coven
Take your head out of the oven
Swear, kick, bite, and scream
Just like Linda on the screen
Put down your crucifix
Get off your cross of sticks
There are pills they can administer
If you’re feeling sinister
Florescent coats, fluorescent lighting
Padded walls to stop the fighting
You’re words and tasks become repetitive
You needed a stimulant, they gave you a sedative
Tell them the truth, they’ll correct it
You won't get better looking for an exit
So turn off the TV.
You with your poison-filled i.v.
Swap your identity
For some medical remedy
Don’t you know they’ll take you out of school
If you’re feeling a little cruel?
Keep your head down in the halls
Ignore the writing on the walls
Don’t listen to the slamming doors
They can’t live here anymore
No, the room hasn’t gotten colder
You’re just simply growing older
Ignore your phantom visitors
If you’re feeling sinister
Dec 7, 2024
Dec 7, 2024 at 7:07 PM UTC
To the one who hosts competitions…
Which ******* gave you the right?
I wouldn’t listen to your rules even if you paid me.
Nor would I let you tell me how I would write my poem.
I could write something totally not related to your competition and submit it.
Maybe I’ll **** your girlfriend and let you read about how it went.
She didn’t take your name when she came(just so you know)
Who said you could take such liberties?
I’m gonna bash your head in with an exhaust pipe
And when it dents and gains a sharp edge I’ll scrape your eye with it
Just one, because I want you to see…
You wanna host competitions, do ya? Meet my little match
Ever wondered how a lit match feels in your nostril?
If I sparked it and let the gunpowder catch flame in your nose, how wonderful would that feel?
Listen here Mr. you asked for this by hosting it… there’s no backing out now…
I still have a few things to run you over with.
**** umbrella? no splash guard? ugh… too messy…
Ah my favorite! the serpent’s tongue.
For that I’ll first have to break your jaw, then hold your tongue out
Then I’ll stretch your tongue out with clamps and slice it right down the middle
Such a fitting exercise. For you.
You have become what you really are.
I’ll leave your manny parts intact… I know how we are when It comes to those.
I will tell you though, you won’t be able to use em ever again… sorry about the irony.
Lets get down to business, shall we?
I hate you. You know why.
I’m gonna inject you with a pain enhancing serum.
Then I will administer XXXX XXX
It’s an ancient technique of entertaining someone.
Dating all the way back to almost 900 AD
It was banned, sadly, in the last century.
Anyway, you’re lucky I have knowledge of this
It won’t spoil our fun… lets start with the obvious places
Eye lids, lips, ears, finger tips, toes, arm pits, the ******* the wrists….etc….
You shouldn’t bother keeping count, that’s my job
But I highly doubt you’ll even live past number 233.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
and we put our hard earned dreams
in a wooden beach chair
and set sail
cross the blue blue sea
using seashells as hats
using palm fronds for tea cups
and get em all mixed up chasing paper doilies
sing you a song that stretches all night long
you spend the dawn clapping and calling for an encore
so we all join hands
and get another chorus goin
because that smile you gimmie honey
midnight and she stepped to the edge of the road
with a rubber duckie in one hand
and a lethal dose of reality in the other
she will use one to make you laugh
then she will administer the other one
cause that's what she thinks is funny
but that's the thing
reality checks always bounce
got rubber duckies on the brain forevermore
sneak down her road
with her hand in mine
and all the mister naturals in the world
couldn't be wiser than the cherry eating
little gnome in the movie usher outfit
sitting by the exit
charging admission back into the world
cause its exactly as advertised
its stranger than freakin fiction
and its heavy brother
sing you a song that stretches all night long
you spend the dawn clapping and calling for an encore
so we all join hands
and get another chorus going
because that smile you gimmie honey
they ain't got too many passion moments left
let em get on with their
neon green VW bug and its
fifteen clowns waiting in the trunk
cause if all else fails and she needs distraction
you can set up a tent and sell tickets
to the sunrise of her surprise
at how easy it is
but deep down inside you know its heavy brother
so you pick up a guitar and start to play
whatever tune comes to mind
and while chopsticks is better on a keyboard
your heart is hungry and chinese sounds good
she lights a kerosine lamp and holding up to the sea
all the lost sailors hoping to find their homes
stop in for tea and a biscuit
it all sounds like romantic gibberish to me
all this play for pay
food for gain
sing you a song that stretches all night long
you spend the dawn clapping and calling for an encore
so we all join hands
and get another chorus goin
because that smile you gimmie honey
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
The screen is a madhouse
of body-building, ego-boosting,
and bad gig recordings.
I see her bronzing in the beach,
applying lotion and laughing
with a new friend.
I'm still stuck in the snow,
watching her skirt in the breeze.
I chain coffee in the morning
to counter sobriety,
to show that I know her more
than just by the light of the moon.
In sunglasses, we'll meet somewhere
neutral; an escape route to run
if the patient becomes lunatic again.
She'll administer the pill
from her pockets to ensure I'll flat-line
through her absences,
and then resurrect when she's lost her
appetite. Far away from this
selfish depression, I dream
of us painting a wall. Nothing dies
when it is made into memory;
nothing lives without your early morning call.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
.
Most of the violence, and that such as he is in the Senate,
The prince wounding thousands, you have to help the helpers
and leaders; I do not want to go down; I do not know
what you are doing, The first server design uses a classic
program and she shows her sports bra - on the Sky Cam and gets a pair of free 3D
x-ray glasses,
Of brandy and white wine from the radio station to a wedding
Weddings are, and not before.
No trading, financial world. Of all the words
The reason why those,
who did not do this, that I may know I can
read the book to know how to administer treatment to
The Wall Street markets, for with thee, I will purchase other
The application will be podcasts, but also superb.
Radio and I shall not find a place for.
to worry about. And the best way to work on that.
Glasses, a robot face.
it is. 1, as John Rose after warning
Atọjade was from England, | Paul was
He moves those, it cannot be that there
are no radio waves. radio
Wedding wedding Cheer
An old man, wish to remain in the water
of the room. if we keep
I do not think we love each other.
Out of four miles he wants to get her for me; I do not know what
First, he planned to meet Temperance
When [ysbryd] appeared, | they and all the games in the program.
Cognac-colored glasses and allowed to sit in the box. for;
the radio and the wedding ceremony
One of the adults, it is said that it is not a piece of wood.
If we take care of the child and the mainstream trafficking
All the words that you know. As part of the book reads
A new way to Wall Street
Fish poisoning complaints, which is also Dutch
Big J Ray
housing; Providing a file's variations.
And a stack of channels, and the best of the best
More, and the other is not. Other applications
Best to be on the radio, and they are most suited.
Where you can also find your location color
The glass on the left hand strongly
that's the best way to a work a gram:
According to John Rose and the beautiful woman
Web England, San Pablo flies.
With the radio waves on
The radio side of the water.
|
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 3:06 AM UTC
Some days I feel it slither within me,
a sickness, a serpent, it writhes to be free
some days I feel like a dark cloud,
like a shroud upon this world
like the wind that whirls around your shoulders on a cold octobers day,
like the smell of fresh decay,
some days I have to say I that I feel I've gone astray from the path
and taken it upon myself to release some sort of wrath,
to take vengeance upon society for turning a monster like me
loose in the world to play,
I feel like I need to administer some sinister
right away, straight into my bloodstream,
I need a full dose of dream within a dream,
nightmare scenes,
I have been known to say that I often,
feel like sleeping in a coffin,
and that sometimes I feel sublimely surreal
and inhuman like a demon born of a dying fire,
Voracious and with no desire
But to bleed dry everyone I find
If I feel it eases my so called "troubled mind"
Oh, I can't say that I don't
yearn for blood and souls,
some days
But mainly I'm just angry enough to take it out on me
you see,
it's such a trip to be,
the hero and the villain of your own story,
no guts? then it's just not gory enough,
so I gotta get tough, cause it's an army of darkness I'm standing up against,
and I'm lacking the proper chainsaw limbs for defense
and I could use at least one shotgun,
so I guess I can stand and fight,
go kicking and screaming into that good night,
or I can run,
************ run!
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 7:50 PM UTC
An old woman sits down in the wheelchair.
A small child takes her first wavering step.
A million fireworks dance into the air, flash, ears hear songs of celebration, awe takes hold.
A million mortar shells leap into the air, flash, ears sing the ring of confusion, shock takes hold.
A man nearing the end of his time on earth stoops to tie a child's shoe.
A man nearing the end of his time on earth stoops to tie a noose.
A woman in white walks down the aisle alongside the man she loves.
A woman in black walks down the aisle to the man she loved.
A doctor readies a syringe to administer a dose of cold medicine to an ill infant.
A doctor readies a syringe to administer a dose of pentobarbital to an ill canine.
A doctor readies a syringe to administer a dose of ****** into her own arm.
A father raises his hand.
. . .
A child receives a reassuring pat on the shoulder, his team having just won the tee-ball state championships.
A woman takes aim, her lens coming into focus on her subject.
. . .
A man that has been psychologically abusing her for several years collapses to the ground.
A team of several hundred people stands back, looking in awe upon the skyscraper they have designed and built over the course of several years. This accomplishment towers above all else humankind has created.
A team of several hundred people stands back, looking in awe upon the mushroom cloud they have engineered and constructed over the course of several months. This weapon towers above all else humankind has created.
A million lives wink out.
A million eyes open for the first time.
A manuscript is penned, the author sets down his pen and takes a sip of tea.
A pile of books burns with black smoke, the cult sets down their torches and takes a deep breath before screaming.
The infant screams sharply after taking its first breath.
The old man wheezes after telling the last of his stories to his grandson.
"That's it, boy. That's everything I ever did."
A tear rolls down his cheek, the profundity of his statement dawning on him as the breaths become harder to take.
"That's everything I was to everyone I met."
Under every rock a thousand secrets shimmer.
Beneath every tree, a hundred promises have been made.
Some of them have been broken.
Remember the promises you made? You know the ones.
You can become the architect of someone's dreams or the shadowed figure in their nightmares.
You can put down the gun. You can pull the trigger.
You can.
A billion men and a billion women before you have lived out their lives, have wasted, have wanted, have sunk to the lowest depths and risen to the highest peaks. A million have set out to become the best at something, and a whole lot of them have succeeded.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
hands remind me of you
they can heal
they can break
they can create
they can stand idly by
just like you
touch is everything
but your touch is more
it's a hurricane
that can't break anything
a feather
that weighs too much
everything you touch hurts
it's only when you walk away
that i can mend
your hands were never meant
to administer to the beaten
your hands delivered
pain and suffering
masquerading
as peace and safety
it's not as though i'm surprised
i suppose that dying
is but a side effect
of living
[holyoak]
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
our mothers tears fill a hospital ward
as a doctor summons the Chaplins call
last rites administer to this tiny newborn
thrice in five days you're destined to fall
born with a hole in such a delicate heart
yet no doctor nor cleric could recognise
this was to allow the world seep through
a shining eighth wonder of pale blue eyes
held on the sill outside a neonatal room
i saw with my soul a love birthed anew
dad he promised that you'd be home soon
there to the years of childhood we grew
the time had come for mam to say to me
sister was different in other ways as well
not for you was destined a desk at school
nor books would you read nor stories tell
innocence of the pure and purity of truth
special she said born of down syndrome
and yet would i never once see you down
for your smiles to me evoke only wisdom
now as you pass over your fortieth year
my sister i cherish all that we hold dear
for you are a family's jewel in it's crown
raising a world from love handed down
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 11:57 AM UTC
You are a benevolent visitor
Inaudible as my dreams
Everything you touch
Turns to crystal and white
Oh how my eyes delight
In your beautiful patterns
As you lay quietly upon glass
Can you stay forever?
My flesh abhors you
For the sting you administer
yet Autumn's half-stripped trees
Wear you as a morning garment
I do blame the sun
As it shortens your reign
Your brevity intensifies my desire
To see you on the morrow
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
Someone must stop for a girl who has lost hope.
Someone must care when everyone else flees.
Someone should administer soothing remedies.
Full restoration of euphoric laughter.
This world owes you joy whether you accept it or not.
Someone.
Someone care for those swept aside, like yesterdays chaff.
Someone may reach down into the bleak, and oull you free.
With restoration in his eyes.
Someone aches for every tear shed, each child's cry.
Someone wonders what must be done
to put a lasting smile on your face.
For very specific reasons
Pain can be transmuted to rest.
We are the effects.
Take a piece of my soul's slow rebirth.
Delivered by your actions.
I ponder the unknowable
Yet they will not ask me
Why I smile so.
I would gift to you the secret,
but its stapled to a tombstone
that burned up in the fire.
I can see the true goodness in your eyes.
Yes. I am not blind or stupid!
Ignore all the fools who define beauty as skin
I see the haunted majesty within
Heroes come and go
Healers lie
But you must believe these words.
Your dreams are intact, they have only been shredded in make believe.
Learn from the world how to live.
Nightmares like that must be disguarded, and turned into fulfillment
Someone cares for you
Do not lose faith
Run not from this world.
This world is the only one we have got.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 10:44 AM UTC
I penned a pen bent out of my mind
asylum I seek, and of fetid dreams I reek
silence dreaded, but it seems it's all she can speak..
should have taken my time, but padded cells
they shook us to the core; in our loneliness
we held each other in embrace like no-one
has ever been held before; today I awoke
dizzy; confused, and admitted to another shore
one that swashes in pain; like an ocean of glass
and with each break, her memory shreds my heart like an open sore.
so I slowly begin to wash away the pain,
disaster being; my mind isn't even mine,
and it's always been that way;
even before I realized sanity was just a game
but in the grind of life,
it's a hellish reminder to not have been born very sane.
profusely I beg, and plead; but it's as plain as day,
she's never coming back; so slack, and bleed, and cut as we may;
administer the habitual as I plead and pray--
not to cut too deep; because this life
it's already taken most of me away.
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 2:57 AM UTC
The first attempt ended in nothingness. Ribbons flowed from the belly of mother hollow, and though they grasped at their own absence, their fingers broke like brittle leaves, returning to the mother’s flesh.
This was the birth of change.
The second attempt ended in madness. Shadows rose out of the nothingness in waves and cascaded into pools of being, but when being opened its eyes and saw its image, it let out a threshing scream.
This was the birth of separation.
The third attempt ended in lack. Fire poured from the cosmic maw and baked earth to blood; flesh gorged on itself, and pale figures gripped the edges of rivers, gaping at one another, unable to speak.
This was the birth of despair.
The last attempt ended in man; and nothing birthed after it.
Appended File
Source states the archaeologist was investigating the Mariana Trench. Strangely, he began displaying symptoms of decompression sickness on the descent. His state worsened, but, due to his insistence, the pilot continued the mission. The archaeologist began recounting, in “muddled and broken speech”, accounts of his wife and children. In interviews conducted after the incident, colleagues claim to have never met any persons matching such descriptions. Soon after, the archaeologist collapsed. The pilot recounts, in a shaken tone, “By all means he was out. Like—I called to him, you know.” When asked why he did not administer first aid, the pilot replied “I couldn’t st—he was out cold, I ******* swear. I didn’t notice it at first, moving my hand over his face, you know—staring into space. I grabbed the kit, turned back, and that’s when it hit me. His eyes weren’t glazed, they were fixed on me. Tracking me. Like—those weren’t his eyes, anymore.” When asked to expand on this, the pilot broke down and had to be escorted from the room. The archaeologist has yet to awaken from his coma. It should be noted his eyes are closed.
— 37, Male. Cairo, Egypt.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 8:36 PM UTC
I have let
my lustful mind forget
to administer the worries
that drip from my lips
and onto my hands,
where they seep
through my fingertips
and onto the ground,
which is where
all my vexing words
belonged all along.
And I have let
my little mouth
blabber for hours,
ranting about unrelated subjects
on unfamiliar ground.
These words are equitable in my mind,
but as they rest on my tongue,
I have realized
that they lack the only flavor
that society would be willing
to taste.
I have let
unrelenting consequence
find me here,
for I am unable to control
what chaos
gushes from my mouth,
and onto my lips,
from which they just
drip.
I have let
myself repeat the most
engrossing words.
So forgive me in advance,
for I have let,
and I will forever let
my mind roam
without a leash.
But then again,
why restrain
what most crave for;
a mind with the ability
to review itself.
Well, no need to crave.
All you need to do is let,
and I have let.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
There was once a place called the UK
That voted to leave and not stay
The government lied
One great nation died
They'd thrown their whole future away
First we look at the campaign
Terrible both leave and remain
Great lies on both sides
The country divides
My goodness are we going insane?
So let us ask the population
Oh we all hate immigration
The economy's bad
We're feeling quite sad
So we'll rip a great whole in this nation
How can we make a decision
When there's clearly a deep incision
Why change all our ways
When after a couple of days
There's such a great whopping division?
We can all vote, young and old
A value we should all uphold
But it's not democratic
When the campaign's erratic
And lies are all that we're told
One thing that I find quite sinister
This new unelected Prime Minister
Equality's great
And I don't want to hate
But why is she the one to administer?
I must make it clear what I mean
Don't think what I'm saying's obscene
But you cry for democracy
Oh the hypocrisy!
Clearly you're not all that keen
And maybe we'll all be alright
It won't all change overnight
But I'm European
And if you're disagreein'
Then I swear I won't give up the fight
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
I have depression.
I suspect I’ve had it for a long time.
It’s only recently I accepted it.
Having this,
is like have an insufferable house guest that just wouldn’t leave.
He was never invited.
I don’t even know why he’s even here.
He’s very persuasive.
He tells me things and shows me what I perceive to be my true value.
I know he likes it here and I’ve had him for so long that I have found strange comfort having him around.
At times, he may slip away without
me even knowing.
But at times, he’d show up.
He’d make a grand entrance.
He’d fuss.
But I’d still wouldn’t realise.
These days,
people know I’m not alone.
People know of him.
People read and watch videos of him.
I applaud them for trying to understand him.
And our relationship.
But it saddens me and it fuels him when the aids don’t do him any justice.
They just allow people to think they know better.
They think they’ve been educated and can start to administer help.
They assume that you’re not heeding their advice.
They think you don’t even try.
But again I applaud them...
For trying so very hard.
This is me and I have a house guest that I’m sincerely trying to manage.
I have depression.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 5:56 AM UTC