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Allison Oct 2017
Follow the kick-drum of the heart
to the point where it’s heard loudest.
Spend ten thousand hours on the lungs:
Read the textbook on what fills us.
Dedicate a white board
to what makes us collapse.
Hold the bell lightly
to differentiate your own pulse from another’s.
Then drink, and dance, and pray,
to relearn that they’re the same.
ryn Oct 2014
Strange malaise,
One I can't place.
Struggling of late.
Discomforting state.

Persistent lethargy.
Sloth-like and heavy.
Burning internals.
Frequent intervals.

No temperature.
No warning lever.
Don't know what's wrong.
Been rather long.

Medicine trough
Can't rid me this cough.
Expulsion so violent,
Incessantly recurrent.

Over a fortnight
This ailment I fight.
Still hasn't eased.
Can't be appeased.

Development is seen.
Now spitting green.
Not just all
That joined this brawl.

It's just the coughing.
No injury I'm suffering,
I haven't bled...

But I see red...
our hands are like flowers
eaten by a fox
we cut off our clothes
to make room for the world
and disguised our souls in nothing
feelings suspended we rear-ended the world
stood upon bridges waving at girls
shreds of starlight
reflect the falling carriages
sadness and birth are beyond your marriages
same story told throughout the eons
our personal feelings are diluted in the sea
just as we could no longer hold on
our shadows found the ground
and we floated down to safety
Amanda Jan 2015
oh medicine man,
I'm feeling blue.
What do you think I should do?
Its up to you, my medicine man
To make this feeling go away
You're feeding me pills
one after one
But I don't feel
I'm numb.
Medicine man,
what have you done?

I have come undone
this is old
dr Wolfson help
Arianna Nov 2018
Gentle, ferocious,
Nurturing, protective. Strong,
Being in balance.
Not an actively religious or spiritual person, but I went through a little.... phase, we'll call it, of introspection and somewhat occult spiritual exploration several months ago. During that time, the bear made some recurring appearances, which I found interesting given the consistency with which it did so, and in light of some minute coincidences with past events. Who knows. :)
J Feb 5

It is that
we keep

the labels.
Dangerous in large doses.
Could be toxic if too much.
Allison Apr 2018
I hold the feather’s weight of your artery in my pick-ups,
and tiptoe the tightrope about which life and death abuts.

You’re a 2 AM trauma and we still don’t know your name,
the social worker’s thin lips had mouthed: “estranged.”

I read your anatomy like a text as you flat-line:
your hands turn blue as your heart falls still in mine.

The monitor hums "out of time," but by Epinephrine,
and Grace, your chest resumes its rise.

I leave trauma bay in prayer: for the surviving, not the knife;
for the closeness of my hands in your chest, our joining in this life.

Tonight I see you at the Kroger, buying TV dinners and beer.
I hide behind cereal, admiring the life I’d held dear.

But you look so tired, and my heart breaks for how when you died,
I would’ve sold the shoes off my feet to buy you more time.

I wish you knew how precious was each of your heartbeats,
I wish you the wisdom of my view:

How fragile the stent is where your veins meet.
Andrew Aug 2017
We're in ****
Can't you tell?
No you can't
You only listen to the teller
All other voices are drowned
Because he's a yeller
For the useless things we're bound
That fill up our cellar
And our living room turns into a dying room
When the seller is the jailer
And salvation comes from tailors
Who can cover up the pain inside
With all the comfy clothes we buy

Money is the blood of our society
It's circulation provides oxygen
But we spill money into spilling blood
And we're funneled into killing love
So we can concern ourselves
With people not getting things they don't deserve
Rather than people getting what they need
Our blood starts clotting
In the fortunate arteries
As the rest of our body goes numb
It seeks medicine for healing
And drugs become our autoimmune disease
Redistributing blood to the suffocated areas
An unfortunate recompensing for injustice
When the persecutors
Become the prosecuted
Lives are exploded
Like Afghan villages
Lives can grow back
Like poppy fields

That's the score
And it makes me want to score
Until ****** drips from every pore
And ******* fills me to the core
I could just live at the liquor store
Where benzos are my father
And **** my mother
So I can ignore the death of my brother
My family is in trouble
Our society is in rubble
zm Nov 2018
a pill I've waited  
an eternity for
has finally cleared my head

in this body
discoveries await where  
happiness can now be spread

I sit and wonder
what life would've been
the life I could've led

if I wasn't sad
felt worthless and mad
or wanting to end up dead.

Vanessa Gatley Nov 2018
Arianna Nov 2018
Shadows of wings
Fall, a fleeting night,
Over the forest;
Winged phantom
Dancing circles before the Sun.

Prowling along the mountainside
Ablaze with light and snow,
The Eagle climbs still higher
Through the blinding Vastness,

And I follow.

A speck emerges
From the twisting kaleidoscope of Morning's blank brightness
Spiraling towards earth

A feather

Alights at my feet in answer
To questions festering unasked beneath the surface,
Warm with the omniscience
Of high-above things:

          A sliver
          Borne hither
          On the breath of the Cosmos.  
* = the last line refers to Abbess Hildegard von Bingen's metaphor of herself as "a feather on the breath of God". It only came to mind as a conceptually appropriate parallel to the feather and to the symbolic significance of the Eagle with regards to this text.
All his senses
Eyes open, fixed on a light, blue chair.
The black-coated people, silent companions to him
in the office.
He is half inside
full of flesh on the outside,
believes he is undestructable.

The words, that fly out of his mouth
chewed up, broken  like his soul,
broken down to mgs of clozapine.

Lack of sleep, the benzos failed to work.
REM cycles are out of stock
and alternatives are unavailable.

The living nightmares are his companions;
in his eyes a blank stare of someone

He looks around for a couple of
seconds as if he does not listen to
the questions, he is being asked.
He open-closes his orbits
rapidly in a mors-code fashion
to someone out of sight.

The family he never had,
he created in his mind.
From loneliness they protect him,
the voices never leave his

Phone rings, the alienist answers.
I leave my notes to the side and
observe his movements.
For a moment
he turns towards me,
appearing emotionless,
then looks back.

Rain pouring on thirsty soil,
cats meowing free
outside the white-walled cages.
'The building (opposite this white hole we are in)
is it a new build?' he asked looking through the

Flight of unlinked thoughts;
from electromagnetic fields
to dealthlessness.
No gun can **** him,
no family there for him.
The brother, he forgot
and no recollection of
the court order that put him
behind bars.

The TV box inside his head
always on, playing a movie on repeat.
A medicated, anhedonic protagonist
on a road of no return.
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
The rule of law  
With a great smile  
She plays mathematical game.  
But rarely,  
On query, she replied  
“You are getting pill for”,  
Wake up  
Forget, and to  
My only drug dealer  
My Doctor.
Genre: Clinical
Theme: Follow Up SOS
melinoe immortal Jul 2018

By the sea, I have been staring,
at your bright colours change.
Erythematous, murderous intentions of
a disease disseminating
on your surface.

The slow, penetrating anguish
tearing the guts,
a one-sided, disdained,
newborn sadness,
I am welcoming in my arms.

On the operating theatre of life
white and now dead moths,
stillborn butterflies
inside the flesh removed,
drowned themselves in a pool of blood.
They, an absurd joy
that never stood a chance
inside this cyanide prison.

Portals of loaned,
disillusioned happiness closed.
The liquid that raced turbulently
through my vessels, drained on a half-filled
with tears palette.

With menacing, impasto knife-like strokes
on the body
Morpheus painted the shadow-covered moon
with memories that refuse to be forgotten
from purulent, open wounds.
'Those worlds you will (never) see.
The people you will (never) meet' he said.

Soul chemicals eroding
the behemoth sky,
as the paint dries out.
Ashes of my Dreams (Not) Achieved,
astral remains;
everything I silently kept inside.
Eva Aloezos Oct 2018
A medicine man once told me,
“Do not fret, for your seizures are a sign of a spiritually attuned mind”

I took out a drachma, and placed it into his breast pocket,
for he reveled in the presence of wordly objects,

ones far more wordly than I,

upon my arrival to the village, I slit my wrist and drew a ****** cross on my crumbling dusty mirror,

I sent my condolences to those who adorn themselves with ο σταυρός
armed with rosary,
the mistaken ones who find comfort and relief in blind faith

because at the end of the day,
all that remains,
is me and my ***** of chemicals residing in my skull,
gripping desperately onto consciousness
I've yet to forget the words to this song, and it echoes in the now empty spaces of my mind. Yeah you ****** me up, and I haven't been sober nearly long enough to find the time. I would relapse and forget the man I was if I could be the guy who knew how to make everything fine. But instead I'll find a different drug...and forget what was surely never mine.
elle jaxsun Jul 2018
the mist from my dope
coping mechanism
tickles my nose and my lips

the corners of my mouth
pulled upward as my eyes
turn to slits

i sink into the couch

cuddle my dog

ahhh, i ******* love this
I scream, inside the tomb
they placed the bomb

that used to beat and left it rot

wondering what was the cause

of such a breakdown.
Denial is great, when people  refuse to blink into reality and admit permanent damage done to souls that have survived incomplete wreckage of spirit. Denial as a mechanism of spiritual stagnation, impedes possible progress and progression into acceptance and resolution of problems; forgiveness. Denial morphed into a coping mechanism for the weak, covering mental instability.  Inevitably, those who have been let down, rejected;  in darkness their insides that has been unwillingly painted by others. Some still suffer mentally inside their little box, accepting what has been done, the past that has been and the current battles to overcome.  The blackness is there in a present term, and  hope as well for the ones who scream silently, but carry no sign of it in the morning. The scream of the child buried and the smile and promise of the grown up to itself, never to become an example of the ones who are in denial. Never to cause physical or mental harm that is untreatable, to bring light to those who have been through the same. To never forget, but learn to expect everything from people; not imitate sources of malice, be vigilant and learn that denial and not taking responsibility can only lead to a progressive spiritual Disintegration.
I feel like when our bodies and souls meet,

we melt together into a formless mass,

reshaping us into one mind of love and understanding.

Without a positive example of love,
how could someone ever love again?

Love is always the answer and the medicine.

Fight fear with love...
In his autobiography Muhammad Ali said:
"A man get old quick when he don't get love,
an unloved man is the endangered species.
A man gets brain damage and ulcers when he ain't around love.
A man minus love is a wrinkled man
but a beloved man is smooth.
The people who love you demand more of you."
Sean Jun 2018
It corrupts you
Losing control of soul
It hurts you
Slowing your growth
It maims you
Stealing your heart
One day people will see
Until then I fight
Because of one reason
It's not me
It's not psychiatry
It's that there is a way of seeing
A way of not seeing
And my mortal enemy is
The anti-fam
So I take war on
The war for eternity
Corruption or not
You know you agree
Aléa Boodoo Jan 29
Medicine on the floor.
Medicine by the door.
Wait. What for?
It’s going to work? Are you sure?
Sure, I need more…
More, of what I can pour.
Pour, upon the poor. Of which I need to ask for
Medicine wasted. Is that something new? Or…
The reason why I’m feeling sore.
But I know from my core, that I need more…
Medicine to be on the floor.
Medicine to be by the door.
For something in my life to be sure.
Mystic Ink Plus Nov 2018
Every last breath
I witnessed

Reminds me
Science must be a myth
Genre: Clinical Abstract
Theme: Beyond medicine
melinoe immortal Dec 2018
The lies they want to shove deep in your throat,
the stories they create in their little, sick minds,
to later satisfy their sadistic needs and feed their bastardised

Left sided hemiparesis of  insides,
right sided psychic  death.
I had a dream last night
of you and I  
we were together
Medicine Man and your Violent Blonde
walked Earth making each dry leaf
every crevices under our footsteps
turn to flame
Every step we took we were shifting into something
we ran making the world behind spring off into colors
of wild reds
oceans of blue
violent violets
we jumped into the coolness of yellow
we were creating a new world behind us  
we didn't look behind us
we just left the new world to be
Mystic Ink Plus Jul 2018
On my first visit
I was restless
I was put on Clonazepam
I got well
Then, he kept on that for every night

On 2nd visit I had nothing
I was there to meet him if I need to stop
He increased the dose
I started to sleep more

On 3rd visit I told
I sleep a lot
He blamed for the season
And without 2nd question
Added 2nd medicine
Telling, this will help

On casual talk
A friend of mine told,
He can’t sleep
I told it’s better to consult
Dr. Clonaz added, the same

Here we have a Pill society
We are his follow-ups
I tried to understand why he adds so often
On every 2nd prescription
Clonazepam is his Pen pill

Probably he understands why
For a good reason he adds it
For a no reason he adds it

For old age, it seems mendatory, he adds it
For young age, Dr. Clonaz don’t hesitates
To let us taste
His favorite

I wonder if the stock clears
Out of the market
What could be his new choice?

Can we survive?
Genre: Clinical Observational
Theme: Do his personal favorite cures all ailments? | No Offence
Author’s note: Beyond Neuropsychiatric
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