"mpd" poems
+I hate you.... You got us stuck in hell with all of these blank white walls...
Respond please?
-I want to escape.
+I know... But it's your fault in the first place.
-I don't like it here.
It is lifeless and cold.
+Well... DUH!!!!!
-why do you always treat me like that?
+no reason.
- you don't like me...
+ I know.
- you're mad at me
+ I know.
- why? What do you know?
+ I know.
- you know what?!
+ you.
- do you know if I can escape?
+ no.
- but...
+ No.
- I just...
+ NO!!!
- no?
+ NO NO NO NO
NO NO NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
- Okay! I get it...
+ yes.
- will you be my friend?
+ I already am.
- since when?
+ always. I am a part of you. Inside of you. I am your only friend.
- not true.
+ yes. I am a part of you. Your only TRUE friend.
- not true. You're not my friend!
+ THEN DIE!!!
You can escape that way. And I will follow you wherever you go, but at least you will be free from this prison.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 9:06 AM UTC
it's a different life,
another layer, color, feeling, thoughts.
over me and in, around and more,
dreams and present alike it haunts.
festering like a fever, sometimes,
incredulous annoying joy.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
We can't make it though a normal day
of school and work
We talk at lunch
and "run out of time to eat"
We see things
We hear things
We think everyone is watching us
and we don't sleep at night
Because we're all ******* anorexic
dying with our own hands at our own throats
We're all that type of depressed
that medication won't even help
We're addicted to the things that will be the end of us
because for the night they make us feel so **** alive
We change our personalities
to cope with everyday people
like they are some trauma that sparked MPD
All high school-ers have insomnia
and then we start having delusions
hallucinations without the LSD
Anxiety levels are through the roof
and I think that's all I have to say
We're all going insane to meet the demands of regular life
We're pushing away our favourite foods so we can see our bones
We're resorting to anything that will keep us awake or put us out
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
Scene:
The Number Ten, Wednesday Night,
Going over the Central Avenue Bridge,
Passes four MPD cars, one with a boat attached;
Five men in blue uniform huddle together, arms crossed, casually speak into shoulder mounted radios.
As their faces illuminate, blue shadows red highlights,
The passengers erupt in an echoing chorus:
"Jump?"
"Jump."
One little girl, thick braids framing innocent curiosity:
"Jump?"
Her father, hesitating:
"Sometimes the world is too much for one person."
"Jump." "Jump."
The refrain continues the expanse of the bridge,
But has faded to no more than a whisper by the University Avenue Stoplight,
Escaped from your chapped lips:
"j u m p."
Scene:
Two years prior,
You, finding yourself twelve hundred miles from home,
Face the Hudson River.
The surface of the water such a bright blue
But you can't see the riverbed underneath;
Nothing but a waist-high stone wall between you and discovering
Just how deep the bottom is.
Smoke a few more cigarettes while you keep asking yourself,
"Jump?"
Two weeks later,
Fly back home, stand on the Snelling Avenue bridge looking over the train yard.
Here, it would be messy.
Here, you wouldn't disappear.
Here, you would create something far more beautiful in your death than you could ever be in life,
Organs splayed out across the tracks like a brand new ******* painting.
Take a picture on your phone,
Remind yourself of your canvas, save it for later.
You aren't quite ready to jump.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC