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"depersonalisation" poems
Spring lasted especially long this week. I danced alongside the tall grass, wondered about butterflies breathing the same air as me, competed with the rays of sunshine. But even in spring, there were storms. I knew it would end. So, who's next in line? Autumn? Winter? Summer? Winter. It was pitchblack. The night came too soon.                    So I threw my ashes into the fireplace                    and it lit up the room for a little while. Autumn. I saw red eyes like autumn leaves. Last night                   I couldn't fall asleep,                   so I held a candle to the devil. Summer. I heard myself breathe. My palms shouldn't slip out of what I was holding on to.                   and sweat shouldn't taste like metal.                   I..... I tasted metal and I SAW RED It watched me rearrange everything in my room but nothing was put in place.                    Clothes weren't the only thing that were folded                    and these creases I wear on my skin couldn't be ironed out. The blizzard took everything away. It was pitchblack I swear I saw myself in the mirror, but I wasn't there.                    And I swear you were there,                    but I wasn't. I breathed. Tried to do so quietly. Not wishing to leave any footprints in the sand,                   I ended up bringing a shoe full of sand home.                   That night, I watched the sandcastle I build crumble into thin air. IT WAS PITCHBLACK. Where am I? I HEARD MYSELF BREATHE. Stop breathing. I SAW RED. There's a hole in the wall shaped like a fist. I HEARD MYSELF BREATHE. I can't look into your eyes. IT WAS PITCHBLACK. Where is everyone? I HEARD MYSELF BREATHE. I'm sorry. I SAW RED. I saw blue too                        I watched the tides wash the bones I used to carry                        and the skin I used to wear                        away every night. Red. Pitchblack. Breathe. Pitchblack. Pitchblack. Red. Breathe. I'm sorry. It's not my fault. I'm sorry.  BREATHE. BREATHE. BREATHE. I watched the seasons change against the sun's will. I waited                for the calm after a storm. I wished for them to stop. I do not want spring, summer,  autumn, or winter                          Just give my skin and my bones back to me.
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Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
Tis' the seasons of depersonalisation
Spring lasted especially long this week. I danced alongside the tall grass, wondered about butterflies breathing the same air as me, competed with the rays of sunshine. But even in spring, there were storms. I knew it would end. So, who's next in line? Autumn? Winter? Summer? Winter. It was pitchblack. The night came too soon.                    So I threw my ashes into the fireplace                    and it lit up the room for a little while. Autumn. I saw red eyes like autumn leaves. Last night                   I couldn't fall asleep,                   so I held a candle to the devil. Summer. I heard myself breathe. My palms shouldn't slip out of what I was holding on to.                   and sweat shouldn't taste like metal.                   I..... I tasted metal and I SAW RED It watched me rearrange everything in my room but nothing was put in place.                    Clothes weren't the only thing that were folded                    and these creases I wear on my skin couldn't be ironed out. The blizzard took everything away. It was pitchblack I swear I saw myself in the mirror, but I wasn't there.                    And I swear you were there,                    but I wasn't. I breathed. Tried to do so quietly. Not wishing to leave any footprints in the sand,                   I ended up bringing a shoe full of sand home.                   That night, I watched the sandcastle I build crumble into thin air. IT WAS PITCHBLACK. Where am I? I HEARD MYSELF BREATHE. Stop breathing. I SAW RED. There's a hole in the wall shaped like a fist. I HEARD MYSELF BREATHE. I can't look into your eyes. IT WAS PITCHBLACK. Where is everyone? I HEARD MYSELF BREATHE. I'm sorry. I SAW RED. I saw blue too                        I watched the tides wash the bones I used to carry                        and the skin I used to wear                        away every night. Red. Pitchblack. Breathe. Pitchblack. Pitchblack. Red. Breathe. I'm sorry. It's not my fault. I'm sorry.  BREATHE. BREATHE. BREATHE. I watched the seasons change against the sun's will. I waited                for the calm after a storm. I wished for them to stop. I do not want spring, summer,  autumn, or winter                          Just give my skin and my bones back to me.
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I have always lived Deep inside my head, I have only ever been A visitor in this reality, My mind's eye resides Within a multiverse-- Universes and Dimensions That coexist separately Alongside this numbing reality -- Through all of the beautiful, Messy chaos, I see With an extraordinary vision And clarity. I suffer with P.T.S.D, O.C.D, Panic Disorder And Depression; A Chemical Imbalance Causing Severe Anxiety. This is my identity In this, here, cold, numbing world; These are the reasons For my vulnerability. A gift, or a curse... To live inside my head? To see beyond what my eyes see... To be able to escape Deep inside my mind, Slowly stripping away reality.... Watching it slowly, but surely, shed? In my head My mind is entrenched, Time is nonexistent As is limitation... I validate theories Using frequencies, Vibrations, colours, numbers Intuition and telepathy. Only whilst visiting reality Do I ever feel detachment, Disorientation, depersonalisation, Derealisation and dissociation --Otherwise known as Debilitating Anxiety. By Lady R.F. (C)2018
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Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 4:11 AM UTC
Chemical Imbalance
*Dissociation   Depersonalisation Derealisation Detachment Mental and Physical Paralization This is the complete story Of my life's disinclination Severe Anxiety Panic Disorder Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Depression My disorderly indispositions Not being in any form of Chronological succession By Lady R.F. (C)2017*
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Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 6:03 AM UTC
Diagnosis Prognosis
Copy yourself, make something other a binary you, in a world of starships and code and the fact that death doesn’t really mean anything here. Right here, we don’t need oxygen or food, in this world of falsity and fantasy and the sweetness of hallucination that aches behind your body. Stand still, headset firmly on and breaths calm, a new world awaits your better self where you forget the depersonalisation of still always being human. Copy that, you’re the captain of false starships, hurtling through uncertainty with virtual reality comforting you when you realise that you’ll never be like this. Another you, version fifty-three in a chain, never changing yourself or becoming something better only sticking in mistakes and pretending like it’s improvement. Copy yourself, make another other for another self, forget your body and transmit human signals to other fake-people who tell themselves aching stories of a reality that we daren’t change.
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Aug 4, 2020
Aug 4, 2020 at 7:40 AM UTC
Semi-Plagiarism
This girl Is a construct, Out of a fairytale. She sounds wonderful, Charming Charasmatic to boot. So, why did she leave? Alone, In this shell of a body, This mask of a face, And a voice so disjointed. Out of place Out of time Out of memory Out of love Out of comfort Out of hope Look at all the old photographs, No one could ever be so happy. Burn to feel warm But to no avail. Myself? An unreachable host Look in the mirror See nothing.
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Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC
Nobody (a depersonalisation tale)
The ancient future of a misbegotten conception is likened to a diametrically opposed depersonalisation of incarnate resilience, don’t you think? Although the far reaching corners of the end resound her mystically alluring and pessimistic chords across galactical ponds of ecstatic connection which are currently unable to establish the depths of vocabulary; can we now consider the possibility of becoming mindful of our present moment of uncertain awareness, where forbidden dreams shed their lubricated skins in a mass *********** where consummated liberty is alleged to loose her bonds of socio-political confinement? Nightfall has now dawned and cast her circle in this ignorant awakening of insulted intelligence. Knowledge has perceptual degrees of boundless limitation, where regulation and relinquishment bow their soul in reverence to a spirit of learning beyond that which we have been taught, if this makes sense?
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Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 2:14 AM UTC
The Production of Progress
Lets squeeze out the juice in my head Hope your stomach is empty The cups are ready When my eyes are awake My body curls like a shrimp And my heart is weary My trust in you and everyone Has turned to rust Though, this loneliness Echos in the vastness Of this universe Into another dimension And this pain Reverberates inside my flesh And my brain has a gift Of making me travel Out side my body Its one i am not fond of Me I am lost At dawn I am gone
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Nov 23, 2020
Nov 23, 2020 at 1:13 PM UTC
Depersonalisation