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"fibrosis" poems
Step one: DONT DO **** (Especially if this mental disorder is really a drug induced psychosis causewd by **** with a hint of illuminate induced fibrosis)( but we don't talk about that) Step two: if step one fails don't panic Step three: stay cool don't get frantic You may have increased the voices HP from 87 to a million plus three Strength doesn't matter just remember this key 1. The voices are not you friends They want to see you hurt Screaming for the pain to end Through minipulation and lies They get your trust on their side Just to beat you down Chained, whipped, and gag tied 2. They will always try to bully you Don't react that is a bully's food Train your brain to not care about a thing, it's strange to not care but caring will just lead you to a knife and a vein just screaming for them to go away But the more you threaten the more they gain. 3.(step3 maybe??). Try not to give them the time of day use books or music to keep them away. And if you feel a need to reply a witty insult or a your mom joke will do just fine (Refer to section 2 not caring) 4. As you can see I am as sane as sane can be, or at I appear to be on the outside at least. Follow these steps and I promise the progress that you profoundly seek Will be in you grasps within a week You you money back( no guarantee)
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Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
How to survive with a schizophrenic mind
I know your pain, They broke my bones and divided me. Where have you been? It’s been 19 years of this ****** mess. This is your mother asleep at the wheel, This is your brothers blood in the backseat When everything you love only seems like something you feel. Sacred sediment wrapped in white gold. Shiny as god’s revolver but twice as cold. What you hear is all Casablanca and she’s shivering cold. They took your teeth, fragments of what they sold. Take these seams from me. Split them down these American IV dreams. Take these seams from me. Take these two lips, cut me clean and free. She put me out like a cigarette. Burned at both ends. And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons Take these words from me. These cystic fibrosis regimes. Take these words from me. Light blue collar worker bees. - MW
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Jul 28, 2011
Jul 28, 2011 at 9:32 PM UTC
Esther Greenwood
In the murky clots of consciousness between sleep and awakening we clung to an icy overpass railing spitting down on graffiti camouflaged train cars as their charging rickety boom carried our uncontrollable laughter toward destinations unknown Our spirited tenacity was matched only by turbulent winds whipping us into submission Forcing us to brace ourselves to avoid getting swept away You tumbled backward off the slick rounded bars of the overpass rail and bit your lip so hard I thought you would need stitches but you kept on smiling as the blood plummeted dripping all over the tracks in a sanguinary frost Feeling arrogant and invincible like two avante guarde dog soldiers we marched past our old urban battlefields and grimy fast food cattle fields closed in on a ramshackle bar and drowned our taboos and inhibitions in foam drenched pitchers until we closed out that ramshackle bar We gleefully stumbled wearing hazy street light halos back to the duplexed squalor of my doorstep Sloppy kisses stained with the scent of cheap beer completed the night as we tore into each other and made love on that ratty creaking mattress in the front room All I had at the time to rest on was that ***** old bed and you until several months later when they confined you to pristine hospital beds instead Intravenous deceptions and false hope blood tests followed but even with all the motions of our modern medical drama we couldn't avoid you getting slowly swept away I regret never having the strength or honesty to visit you just as I regret never telling anyone about you and I I go hang on that overpass railing sometimes remembering the knock-down-drag-out-reckless perfection of that night knowing that my agonizing love for you should have been something I proudly proclaimed to the world Now the trains carry away my atrocious wails as the weight of my shame nearly pulls me onto the tracks and spills my insides in sacrificial testament to all we've lost
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Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
Mystic Fibrosis
In the murky clots of consciousness between sleep and awakening we clung to an icy overpass railing spitting down on graffiti camouflaged train cars as their charging rickety boom carried our uncontrollable laughter toward destinations unknown Our spirited tenacity was matched only by turbulent winds whipping us into submission Forcing us to brace ourselves to avoid getting swept away You tumbled backward off the slick rounded bars of the overpass rail and bit your lip so hard I thought you would need stitches but you kept on smiling as the blood plummeted dripping all over the tracks in a sanguinary frost Feeling arrogant and invincible like two avante guarde dog soldiers we marched past our old urban battlefields and grimy fast food cattle fields closed in on a ramshackle bar and drowned our taboos and inhibitions in foam drenched pitchers until we closed out that ramshackle bar We gleefully stumbled wearing hazy street light halos back to the duplexed squalor of my doorstep Sloppy kisses stained with the scent of cheap beer completed the night as we tore into each other and made love on that ratty creaking mattress in the front room All I had at the time to rest on was that ***** old bed and you until several months later when they confined you to pristine hospital beds instead Intravenous deceptions and false hope blood tests followed but even with all the motions of our modern medical drama we couldn't avoid you getting slowly swept away I regret never having the strength or honesty to visit you just as I regret never telling anyone about you and I I go hang on that overpass railing sometimes remembering the knock-down-drag-out-reckless perfection of that night knowing that my agonizing love for you should have been something I proudly proclaimed to the world Now the trains carry away my atrocious wails as the weight of my shame nearly pulls me onto the tracks and spills my insides in sacrificial testament to all we've lost
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55
I know your pain, They broke my bones and divided me. Where have you been? It’s been 19 years of this ****** mess. This is your mother asleep at the wheel, This is your brothers blood in the backseat When everything you love only seems like something you feel. Sacred sediment wrapped in white gold. Shiny as god’s revolver but twice as cold. What you hear is all Casablanca and she’s shivering cold. They took your teeth, fragments of what they sold. Take these seams from me. Split them down these American IV dreams. Take these seams from me. Take these two lips, cut me clean and free. She put me out like a cigarette. Burned at both ends. And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons Take these words from me. These cystic fibrosis regimes. Take these words from me. Light blue collar worker bees. - MW
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Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:42 AM UTC
Esther Greenwood
He looked me in the eyes The other summer night And told me of the abominations men of the world Impose on women of the world As if I didn't know them. As if I weren't the ****** That time had ****** so, So, So ******* many times. He told me I would never find a man Who would treat me better than he. But I found my hero Without having to run away with Proud Mary. And I may have found him A midst empty days And a longing to fill a chasm I found deep within myself, But I found him nonetheless. And as I sit here, Awake for days and Sick, I hear his words echo Like back blows Administered To the lungs of a Cystic Fibrosis patient. He told me men on Craigslist Look for women to **** And women call their vaginas "oceans" To try to pick up men. But my love wants only a partner To participate in a round of Super Smash Bros. with.
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Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
Untitled
The wisest of men once said to me, if you are lonely amongst people, you are probably bad company, he also talked about the disease of consciousness, how humans have given up their senses, for a supposed superior mind, which is best? This man will soon die, his outlook on life comes from, isolation, diabetes, and cystic fibrosis, I hope I can help his dreams to fly.
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Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
Loneliness
At the track kitchen that morning I was playing cards with friends, There sat Pop Sigh, we called Dead Eye and Fats Jimmy, who drove the Benz The fourth man, Wheel Chair Eddie a boy of eighteen, I'd been told The wheel chair, was his cross to bear on each, God had broke the mold Fast Eddie as I called him suffered from Cystic Fibrosis, "Get outta my way" he would say "don't need no **** diagnosis" Eddie was cleaning up on us took me for two hundred three, He was the best, wiped out the rest taunting us all, with his spree The others always let him brag in pity for his condition That might be, but they weren't me, I'm not given to submission! "Eddie, you're a gimp legged freak," I'd said, giving his chest a tap "Off your **** or keep your mouth shut," "Hey Morgan, I won't take your crap" He waved the money in my face "you fish bite the same old hook" "Man" he'd say, "you're easy prey you make it sound like I'm a crook" "If you'd climb outta that wheelchair I would teach you some respect" He'd laugh and jeer, show no fear, "well now...what did you expect" But Eddie had such little time whereby, we all knew his plight, What might I see, if I were he I'd welcome their taunts to fight While others made him feel sorry for the state that he found himself in I could see, he was just like me though at times, I would let him win I think that's why he favored me he would seek me out, most the time The reason he, played cards with me in the hope, I would drop a dime I never looked on him as sick to me he was one of the **** He knew I'd say, "Eddie, let's play, come on, we need another man" Tate
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May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
Fast Eddie
At the track kitchen that morning I was playing cards with friends, There sat Pop Sigh, we called Dead Eye and Fats Jimmy, who drove the Benz The fourth man, Wheel Chair Eddie a boy of eighteen, I'd been told The wheel chair, was his cross to bear on each, God had broke the mold Fast Eddie as I called him suffered from Cystic Fibrosis, "Get outta my way" he would say "don't need no **** diagnosis" Eddie was cleaning up on us took me for two hundred three, He was the best, wiped out the rest taunting us all, with his spree The others always let him brag in pity for his condition That might be, but they weren't me, I'm not given to submission! "Eddie, you're a gimp legged freak," I'd said, giving his chest a tap "Off your **** or keep your mouth shut," "Hey Morgan, I won't take your crap" He waved the money in my face "you fish bite the same old hook" "Man" he'd say, "you're easy prey you make it sound like I'm a crook" "If you'd climb outta that wheelchair I would teach you some respect" He'd laugh and jeer, show no fear, "well now...what did you expect" But Eddie had such little time whereby, we all knew his plight, What might I see, if I were he I'd welcome their taunts to fight While others made him feel sorry for the state that he found himself in I could see, he was just like me though at times, I would let him win I think that's why he favored me he would seek me out, most the time The reason he, played cards with me in the hope, I would drop a dime I never looked on him as sick to me he was one of the **** He knew I'd say, "Eddie, let's play, come on, we need another man" Tate
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49
No I don't need a subject I just spit about my spit So open up that purdy mouth And you can have a taste of it Ye im sick Im tired Im ****** wired My brain is fried From all this **** And I've lived outside society Though it's technically impossible Somewhat withdrawn, morose, forlorn Nice midnight stroll **** on your lawn ********** on Your absence of a soul ****** mess And you've been told Witches brew, you know I see through you Devil's spawn Sprang from the earth Your just desserts Blood red alert Positive vibes man But you can't hide man Ye step outside man Won't let it slide Won't let it pass And you can call me an ******* You’re welcome I already know But as you know That's not all I know Now its show and tell time Hear me flow I'm on the outside looking in And what I see is ******* grim Ye you’ve got no soul left to sell And you revel in this ******* hell Dimensions cut right to your size But your empire of **** Is built on lies And I see the fear behind your eyes And I'm thinking maybe it's high time I joined the conversation Got my stomp boots on And plenty of libations And I never did have any patience But I was just so far removed Now I'm moving in Ye for the **** And I've got my sights ***** Set on you And I've lived outside society Though it's technically impossible Somewhat withdrawn, morose, forlorn And my best feature is my scorn And you wish you were never born But you were And so Here we are You spread your rot round near and far And I am one big human scar Fibrosis glowing in the dark ********* tell me I'm too sharp But I made a big Blunt object of my heart And I smash it off your little brain Now take the shame dope Take the shame
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Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 3:25 PM UTC
Ye Olde Fibrosian Glow
No I don't need a subject I just spit about my spit So open up that purdy mouth And you can have a taste of it Ye im sick Im tired Im ****** wired My brain is fried From all this **** And I've lived outside society Though it's technically impossible Somewhat withdrawn, morose, forlorn Nice midnight stroll **** on your lawn ********** on Your absence of a soul ****** mess And you've been told Witches brew, you know I see through you Devil's spawn Sprang from the earth Your just desserts Blood red alert Positive vibes man But you can't hide man Ye step outside man Won't let it slide Won't let it pass And you can call me an ******* You’re welcome I already know But as you know That's not all I know Now its show and tell time Hear me flow I'm on the outside looking in And what I see is ******* grim Ye you’ve got no soul left to sell And you revel in this ******* hell Dimensions cut right to your size But your empire of **** Is built on lies And I see the fear behind your eyes And I'm thinking maybe it's high time I joined the conversation Got my stomp boots on And plenty of libations And I never did have any patience But I was just so far removed Now I'm moving in Ye for the **** And I've got my sights ***** Set on you And I've lived outside society Though it's technically impossible Somewhat withdrawn, morose, forlorn And my best feature is my scorn And you wish you were never born But you were And so Here we are You spread your rot round near and far And I am one big human scar Fibrosis glowing in the dark ********* tell me I'm too sharp But I made a big Blunt object of my heart And I smash it off your little brain Now take the shame dope Take the shame
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71
(whose video powerfully, profoundly, and positively affected this southeastern residing Pennsylvania papa)! Afflicted with Cystic Fibrosis since her birth contagious exuberance, gung-ho, infectious jubilance noah dearth which eye opening (then tearing) podcast link sent tummy FaceBook account, she distilled and didst poignantly blog the purpose driven life, no matter...hmm... her existential time nearing thee finis line on planet Earth though upworthy defying deathly clasp of grim reaper, who scythe lent lee doth await she (titled lass of poem) established a substantial supportive network, via such an up beat aura, charisma, persona, et cetera create ting global bond sans, world wide web, aye equate chance lucky opportunity to witness airily especial and gutsy acceptance of her (congenital) grim fate while this healthy (as an oxymoron) lix spit tilling chap doth hate sweaty palms (a minor, though tolerable inconvenience) versus being irate at an accursed disease still no cure as of late, yet...state of the art revolutionary treatments provide longevity, and... YES possibility to discover a mate though consigning severe limitations but...WOW, that girl (unknown til yesterday) doth narrate positivity, which amazing will power didst permeate, within thine noggin triggering sincere flowing tears bursting forth at an unstoppable rate hence this attempted rye ming livingsocial tribute to go for broke esprit de corps elan trait completing a bucket list while eternal sleep will wait!
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Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
Claire Wineland -
(whose video powerfully, profoundly, and positively affected this southeastern residing Pennsylvania papa)! Afflicted with Cystic Fibrosis since her birth contagious exuberance, gung-ho, infectious jubilance noah dearth which eye opening (then tearing) podcast link sent tummy FaceBook account, she distilled and didst poignantly blog the purpose driven life, no matter...hmm... her existential time nearing thee finis line on planet Earth though upworthy defying deathly clasp of grim reaper, who scythe lent lee doth await she (titled lass of poem) established a substantial supportive network, via such an up beat aura, charisma, persona, et cetera create ting global bond sans, world wide web, aye equate chance lucky opportunity to witness airily especial and gutsy acceptance of her (congenital) grim fate while this healthy (as an oxymoron) lix spit tilling chap doth hate sweaty palms (a minor, though tolerable inconvenience) versus being irate at an accursed disease still no cure as of late, yet...state of the art revolutionary treatments provide longevity, and... YES possibility to discover a mate though consigning severe limitations but...WOW, that girl (unknown til yesterday) doth narrate positivity, which amazing will power didst permeate, within thine noggin triggering sincere flowing tears bursting forth at an unstoppable rate hence this attempted rye ming livingsocial tribute to go for broke esprit de corps elan trait completing a bucket list while eternal sleep will wait!
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57
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, ........it's just October:) place in me one where my lungs bleaches with fibrosis & I let it be yet not even upon professional diagnosis place in me one where my lungs are empty & I let it be yet still nothing comes subtly place in me one that thinks of a third lung & I let it be yet sometimes the dull are somewhat young upon one climate change aching for sickness is the sickness nothing comes of the desired range & it becomes a matter of critical forgiveness -----ravenfeels
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Oct 30, 2022
Oct 30, 2022 at 4:03 PM UTC
Undiagnosed
I'm devastation in cling wrap Melted to the frame. Popped balloons on birthdays. A bankrupt business. Giving out more then it has. An empty O2 tank, On the hip of a cystic fibrosis patient. Useless extra weight. Like an anchor On a boat trying to set sail. Going nowhere. Remaining in the same spot. Growing  roots That barely scrape the surface. Only to be blown over With a gust of insufficiency. Inadequate valves Leaking out life sustaining fluids. With more effort to fail Then to just Let go.
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Jul 31, 2019
Jul 31, 2019 at 10:39 PM UTC
Metamorphosis