"narcolepsy" poems
Narcolepsy hard and heavy watch me fall asleep
Lulled to bed in a cunning thread of the tangled web we weave
I dream in pristine colors, windows of my mind anew
No fingerprints or ***** looks or evidence of you
I find comfort in forever wherever it may be
I may have left my home but it will always stay with me
The smell of all the smoke with the sound of all the rain
On constant playback every second deep within my brain
I found that time is all that matters and everything else faded
I spent years and years learning how to forget everything I hated
I've only gotten older and have nothing left to show
Except a ringing alarm clock and blood on my pillow
Narcolepsy hard and heavy watch me as I sleep
Another pill, another high, another date to keep
If I shall die before I wake, I hope that I'm with you
Then it won't matter where I go, cause you will see me through
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 12:20 PM UTC
I bet you never got to know
That I wasn't always depressed
I was always narcoleptic
Every time I told you I didn't feel good and couldn't see you
I wasn't depressed
I was narcoleptic
That message in March
Where you said you even loved when I was so depressed I couldn't get out of bed
I was narcoleptic
I couldn't help it
People never understand, it's like how you feel when you've been up for days
I was narcoleptic
I could sleep 12 hours
And not feel refreshed, because my sleep doesn't heal me, like it heals you and others
I was narcoleptic
I know I took those stimulants
But they made me edgy and nervous, and I turned into a **** so I didn't take them but
I was narcoleptic
You see, those stimulants, Vyvanse
Made me feel like I'd been up for days but running on 2 pots of coffee because
I was narcoleptic
A man who has been up for days
Is not often the most polite and I hated being impolite so I stopped taking them but
I was narcoleptic
So I spent my days sleeping
Sleeping till noon, then needing to sleep at 3 PM, until 10 at night and then until noon because
I was narcoleptic
Your stepdad said he wouldn't stand for that "crap"
But I couldn't help it, I wanted to see you more than anything and I knew it hurt you but
I was narcoleptic
Not only am I narcoleptic
I think I have fibromyalgia just like my grandmother, who loves you too, I think,
I have fibromyalgia.
Today I'm still narcoleptic with fibromyalgia
But I've found a cure, a mix of two pills, one for the narcolepsy and one for the pain
One pill is designed for nothing but narcolepsy (not ADHD) and the other a narcotic for the pain
You'd have no idea how much better I feel than I did before
You'd have no idea because you don't care to learn who I am
Because I'm not who I was, I'm refreshed, something new, I'm normal for once
Not just feeling bad, not just tired and sore and fatigued, not so depressed I can't get out of bed
Just narcolepsy and fibromyalgia.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
When did it happen?
When did I stop being awake?
I don't know if I've ever really been awake.
What does it feel like
to want to do anything that you have to open your eyes for?
"Wake up," they say,
"You're going to sleep away your entire life."
But I see more with eyes closed
than I ever have with eyes open;
What really separates a dream from reality?
My dreams interrupt my reality all the time
and I can never be certain of anything I think is real.
All I know is that we're staring at the ceiling at 2am
just trying to figure each other out,
and suddenly I'm somewhere else
and you're someone else
and I'm saying things to you that don't make sense
and you're confused.
I'll come back from a dream just as confused as you are,
Not with eyes torn open, because they hadn't been shut,
but with nothing more than a shake of the head,
an embarrassed apology
and a disappointment in my inability to remain conscious
even for you.
I know it scares my mother to know
that I drove 62 miles to see her
but I can only remember 37 of them.
But I can't tell you how many poems I don't remember writing,
that contain words I've never used before
and a feeling I didn't know could be described.
When I was a little girl
all I wanted to do was sleep.
I dreamt of growing up to find a husband
and living in a beautiful house with him and our children,
and I'd be happy and have everything I could want.
I dreamt it.
And it felt real.
I decided then that if I could dream it, that was enough
because at least for the time that I slept, it would be real.
It's harder to make sense of real life
when you aren't required to be a part of it.
This brain will never have the control
to stop from slipping in and out of consciousness.
I may never fully wake up.
Any hour may have in store for me only
a dark fog of amnesia and a life that isn't mine,
ready to pull me in and drown me beneath the dangers of my own eyelids.
But that place is the place I know the best,
better than any place conscious minds have ever met.
Eyes closed.
Eyes open.
I don't know where I am,
but I am here.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
...
☔
"This is a big dream, it may eat you up."
I do not flinch in the face of chaos.
〰
(Forecasters)
I counted as seven gods
ascended the iodine skyline.
We all call them "misfortune in the flesh."
They waltz in pairs but the very last is a composer;
Seven deities promised the sun would catch scarlet fever.
We danced to the music to summon fate and disorder,
building a coffin in the middle of hungry waters,
The sun is our noble sacrifice in ruby robes;
So lets just hope the sea was starving for fire.
(Brew)
Metal ghosts slip among the sky
and lock like iron gates to form an army of grey.
The weight of sober clouds are intoxicated with turmoil,
Unbalanced weight, scales faltering, "no sudden moves please"
Obsidian giants collect the welkin until it boils over
the edges, the pillars, the cage
Why does the dark taste sweeter?
(Beautiful downfall)
The raindrops are ashamed
of the bitter liars we're all becoming;
We've succumbed to narcolepsy by the hand of water;
within the jaws of hurricanes we were consumed,
teeth formed by the angry fingers of the wind
thunder rejoicing as the land buckles down,
rain feasting on the earth in ecstasy
hail and rain are merciless foes
lightning still swinging,
morbidly screeching
chaotic smile,
a sword,
a single,
a cut.
Yes,
I am the one
(☔)
who fed the sky
my name.
...
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
My skin has been itching for three months
I’m not sure why this is addicting
I’ve crashed a car in my head 3 times today
My mental awareness consistently letting go of the wheel
The Anterior teeth of my mouth have started to yellow in disapproval
I’m not sure why this is satisfying
I’ve been taking toxic psychotropics in light doses more than twice a day
It’s warmth is comforting as the jittering and hyperactivity become null
Bags have formed under my eyes
If you were to open them, their roasted smell would overpower you with stimulation
Constantly on my toes for risk of Insomnia and Narcolepsy
I’m not sure why this is outstanding
Adrenaline is being forcefully factored into my body
If this is the bullet, I’m biting it after an appliance pulls the trigger
As the high passes, it ripples through my mind
An otherwise calm sea, tidal waves pound the shores of my subconsciousness
Vacuum sealed can are filled with awareness
Sleep has become a rare odyssey
Warm comforters are replaced with long trachea trips of boiling beans
I’m not sure why this is alarming
Double trips become tripled and troubling to my mother
Arguments over the hours I shall harvest from the night are increasingly frequent
Slow to roll out of bed in the morning
I don’t hit my carpet, I splash into sugared preparedness
In my backpack hides a cup full of GI Joes
I’m not sure why this is troubling
If anything, I’m drinking a medicine that prevents death by 10-15% for 13 years
The New England Journal of Medicine was happy to acknowledge my existence
Till they announce anything different, you’ll find me taking a mud bath
I’m not sure why this is disgusting
Tell me everything that’s wrong with it
Because from where I’m standing
There is nothing wrong with
Coffee
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 11:58 AM UTC
Headline Story:
Sweet old lady found dead in oven;
Science and Medical:
Prince develops cure for narcolepsy;
Gardening and Leisure:
Giant beanstalk wins first prize;
Duckling takes honors in beauty pageant;
Entertainment:
Sorcerers apprentice: You're Fired!
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
Zen monks sit quietly on
stern pillows of effervescent soul.
I do not,
My patchwork pillow is filled with
styrofoam-- artificial.
Hasidic Rabbis rub their tired pious books
adding more wear marks from years worrying
which appear like a foreign tongue on the cover.
My book is full of yellowed, empty pages
sitting, dust-ridden on a abandoned shelf.
The head of the Shiite rests against solid stone
The penitent countenance like a mirror of Mecca.
My forehead bears only the reddened mark of my forearm
from the vibrant narcolepsy of life.
The Atheist sits in the coffee house
lecturing the disinterested Baristas
about the tomfoolery of religion.
I sit alone,
nodding sagely,
sipping wine that tastes
flat against my tongue.
What does a depth of spiritual belief offer?
There is an unwritten, unquantifiable,
essence that belief gives the human.
A depth of meaning, like
a shot of penicillin to a case of chlamydia.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
Pay your quarters
pay your dimes
you're paying for laundromat time
slowly spinning
forgotten
by
Einstein's Theory of Relativity.
Minutes become hours
and
there are still too many hours to go.
Any math class
intense gas
organized religion
waiting for the tow truck,
the bus
in
the pouring frozen rain.
Sitting in the E.R.
with a cut finger
waiting waiting waiting.
Sitting in the hospital room
with an elderly distant relative
you hardly know,
their funeral too.
At the grandparents house
with endless repeats of Judge Judy
on the t.v.
t.v. droning monotoning on and on and on.
Any work day
perpetually two thirty or three,
in meetings with presentations
with more presentations to go,
you're trying to be productive,
but all you know
is
laundromat time
slowly spinning.
Any night of insomnia,
betrayals endless loops,
anxiety rolling through,
following you from one cigarette to another
three o'clock
four o'clock
four-twenty.
Home movies of endless barbeques
I know meaningful to you.
Pictures of people's
cats and dogs
a hundred more to go.
Eight and a half months pregnant,
kiddie soccer on a Sunday morning at 7:30,
the middle school brass band
Friday night at nine,
yes, that's me
passed out and snoring,
laundromat time
a warm blanket
has
put me under.
Anybody else's endless fascinations
say
pictures of weather,
laundromat time sets in
as the
eye lids flutter
narcolepsy sets in with all of this clutter.
So the next time
you're standing in line
and the woman in front is telling
the clerk
every detail you never wanted to know
you'll think about these poor lines
and remember
you're spinning in laundromat time
forgotten by Einstein.
In fact these poor lines
must be feeling that way too
I am going to do you a favor
and
get back to you later.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
i'm sleepy of you
i'm exhausted of you
i'm sore of you
i'm drifting off of you
i'm nodding out of you
i have narcolepsy of you
me eyes are starting to hurt of you
i still have to bike home of you
i'm bored of you
i'm restless of you
i'm indifferent of you
i'm worn out of you
i'm over it of you
i've been up all day and night of you
i might head home soon of you
i'm not interested in you
...so fear mounts...
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
I'm just
I can't feel my lips
on my face
so still
i cant move them
on their own
i can't tell if they are parted
i can't tell if they exist
i can't feel my hips or
my feet, or my lefs
i can't move them
i can't feel them
i want to break
i want all of the confusion, the disconnectedness
i can cry
but i can't escape this
and i can't can't escape this
there is no break
a million scattered shattered steps
stood stunning
chameleon flattered
I can't move.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6n_z-FdEkw&feature;=youtu.be
^unlisted
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 11:59 AM UTC
would you mind reading this and giving your thoughts? http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1533551/narcol... it's my boyfriends and i think its really good, Thx :)
Matthew Conrad 5 minutes ago
i could write many things, the biggest constructive criticism these days concerning any output of poetry is rhyming, rhyming tends to disguise the poet in not digging deeper, in all honesty rhyming poetry is dead, instead there's a desperate need for a narrative, a captured narrative, rhyming doesn't really show you anything other than a strict technique of how poetry used to be written, a very neat Victorian standard of trying to not show your emotions; but to rhyme when talking about something as debilitating as narcolepsy feels like the problem is not really embraced, whereby the rhyming only embraces the routineness of the problem, like a swing... to and fro; if he could just do a carpe diem (seize the moment) rather than stress a whole lifetime's worth of it not changing by engaging in rhyme, for example: ask him to write about a dream, get him involved in remembering dreams rather than the dreary reality, after all... he spends a lot of time in the dream realm. but like i said, poetry these days is really trying to not use too much conscious technique of what was used in the past, not rhyming does not make poetry not-poetry, it just shoves grit into your eyes... creating a sense of spontaneity... plus you feel less constrained to be forcefully hitting an echo.
p.s. necro-lepsy... i'm awake all the time, and i feel i'm dead, the poor guy just sleeps a lot, i'm always dying.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 6:00 AM UTC
Sky is a taut, grey net spread,
at its best in creating panic,
relentless day a brutish marauder,
drained of color of every kind, bleak,
even thought of you distant, my nectar
plays hide and seek, I am plunging
in a hallucinatory spin, down, down.
From inside a furnace closed
with a tight lid under which heat
in it's fiery glory permeates
like never before, a full- throated roar,
without any sound it travels around,
in waves after waves after waves,
to scorch every single thing under
the blood thirsty sun, on a hurried
march for revenge,green turbaned
trees and scarf adorned branches
changed all those embellishments
gone bone dry,now stand apologetic
like kids that made bed wet and caught
red handed, shrunk in shame and pain.
Narcolepsy reigns, drowsiness
day and night, like marijuana haze
follows.
This summer makes its name stick
in bad books,making T.S.Eliot look
shame faced for calling one past tame April,
uncharitably the cruelest of it all.
But this, this is an unbridled wild horse
none can in no way do anything to stop.
When even the last drop of water from
the pond evaporates,sunburn peels the skin,
sun stroke down people, who are unaware,
cruelty of April, becomes monumental.
Perhaps in few days time May could barter
that bad name from April,I'd easily guess.
Buildings , in rows and rows lie, til horizon,
like blood drained corpses all though the day,
the appetite for life, they evidently has lost.
Song birds on flowered trees, have gone mute,
doves scamper, dart in to the air, with hope
to get few drops of water from somewhere
Kindhearted few fill water and feed on containers
for stray birds,taking cue from the practices of forefathers.
Change in climate is an ogre, that could with bare hands
smash pompous attitudes and other human constructs!
Will there ever be a limit, to the red eyed monster,
avarice, we all pamper, within our inner courtyards,
that forces human beings to to do "Harakiri"
like a proud Samurai does with his own sword.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
Café
tantalizing aroma
evicts every other scent from my nasal cavity
remedy for self-diagnosed cranial narcolepsy
eyelid suspenders
bittersweet paramour
empty mug,
stirs my core
caramel and dark chocolate
micro-foam, group heads and caffeine
velvet layered cappuccino
espresso parts my thoughts
come sip with me
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
Narcolepsy
Your muscles collapse, palms sweat, darkness drowns your body with a sleep attack. Hallucinations break in and leave your mind numb, while awake at 3 am wondering why? The next morning you think it's going to be better but your wrong. It's an ongoing suffering pain and misery in a darkness that no one can ever imagine unless they have your "disease"
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC
Oh, go on,
and give it up,
you alone and something types.
Heaving thoughts
through throats slit
wide
eyed stare.
While you slept I was surely alive.
May 9, 2010
May 9, 2010 at 12:31 PM UTC
A beautiful butterfly beams by in the brisk bright morning hours.
The alliteration of the first line is enough to make you swoon.
Beauty comes in many forms as such as an amazing altogether auspicious line of aggressive, aggrandizing well written word play
But just think of the amount of well written expression that was possible with any of those starter lines.
Instead you are full of nagging narcolepsy that nags at your knees.
Falling below even the fewest standards
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
Through sleepless nights and
Tired days
You fight your fights now
In a daze
The clouds are back and
Raining down
It’s so ****** up here
In this town
You’re a fighter who’s armor
Has been worn thin
Protecting others
From life’s cruel sin
You seem so tired
With eyes drooping and
Your bones aching
But you can’t give up
No, not just yet
Le gets good
You wanna bet?
You may not believe
You are strong enough
But I know you are
So I’ll call your bluff
Please, I’m beggin you
To stay a while longer
For no one else but yourself
To show that you are stronger
One day you will look back and know
Why you were meant to stay
You have a place in life
A role you were meant to live and play
So keep your head up
Through all the blows
Your life is at the start
Not the close
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
“I am tired,”
I say
You ask if I was up late
Last night
And instead of telling you about
My hypocretin levels I nod
And laugh and say
“Something like that.”
“What, are you tired?”
My coach asks
He thinks he is
Trying to motivate me
But he does not know
That my very existence is
Bone crushingly exhausting
And yes,
I am tired
But I wouldn’t expect him
To understand
So I say nothing
When I say I have narcolepsy
And you say
“Must be nice, being able
To fall asleep anywhere,”
I have never related
To Ted Bundy more in
My entire life
You suggest I stop
Drinking coffee
I suggest you stop breathing
Teachers talk about the
Impact of sleep on
Mental health and
I think
Maybe that’s why
I’m always depressed
My doctor suggests I stop
Drinking coffee too
I am a little worried now
I google
“Caffeine related heart attacks
In teens”
My findings are not enough to
Convince me and besides,
A hospital visit
Is just an opportune moment
For a nap
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
there's no longer enough sleeping
medication to put me to sleep for a couple
of hours
the doses aren't strong enough to knock
me out of staring at my fears on the
blank ceiling
toss
turn
bury my head
check my phone
repeat
i still can't escape the fears
the ones that i make up in my head
and the ones that happened once before
my biggest fear?
losing you again
but i believe you when you say
you're not going anywhere this time
and knowing that puts me to ease tonight
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC
I’d hidden away the mirrors
Packed them up and sent them off,
Taken the shine off the saucepan lids,
Sandpapered the coffee ***
Everything that reflected I’d
Sand-blast, like the sliding doors,
Even got rid of the polisher
For shining the wooden floors.
It was very like narcolepsy when
She saw her face on a plate,
She’d go in a trance and sit for hours
In a crazy, dreamlike state,
I’d take away the reflection and
She’d sit and weep for hours,
‘You’ve taken away my beauty,’ she
Would say, and take cold showers.
It seemed like a terrible sickness that
She loved her looks so much,
She’d say, ‘If you won’t let me see myself,
I’ll just make do with touch,’
She’d run her fingers over her face
Explore each crease and mound,
And sigh to her satisfaction as
She felt her lips turn down.
I couldn’t get rid of the garden pool
That flowed on in from the brook,
Babbling over the standing stones
From the woods at Nether Hook,
I’d catch her kneeling beside the pool
And staring into its depths,
Smiling at each reflection that
Would ripple with every breath.
‘Beware of the evil Water Sprite,’
I told her more than once,
‘He takes advantage of lovely girls
For he hates to be outdone.
He’ll lure you into a shady pool
With guile, and his tender lies
And hold you down ‘til you surely drown,
You’ll avoid him, if you’re wise.’
She told me then of a vision that
She’d seen, that of a prince,
He’d smiled at her from the water but
She hadn’t seen him since.
‘That’s not a prince but the Water Sprite
And he’s trying to lure you down,
To put your face to the water, but
I’ve told you once, you’ll drown.’
The water was babbling gently on
A sunny day in Spring,
In shades of the weeping myrtles and
The sound of cuckooing,
Miranda was knelt beside the pool
And I saw her head go down,
When claws reached out of the water
Pulled her in, without a sound.
I raced across and I seized her hair
And I pulled her from the pool,
But claws had raked at her pretty face,
She said, ‘I feel a fool!
I should have listened to you, I know
But I thought that just one kiss…’
But he had turned to a monster and
Had bitten her rose red lips.
I put the mirrors all back in place
And I bought new shiny pans,
Polished the floor, you can see your face
But she hides behind her hands,
She never looks in a mirror now
Though her scars are healed and white,
But goes each day to poison the pool
To **** off the Water Sprite.
David Lewis Paget
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
Like Hitchcock would have said:
Let's go out
On dark waters
Too deep
Because that's where all of you perverts want to go anyway
You don't care about happiness in fairy land where it's raining flowers
You want AIDS, ADHD, narcolepsy, funerals, junkies, alcoholics, *** **** ****** brothels, snipers, war veterans, drugs, criminals, motorcycles, accidents, models, size queens, gypsies, hairy hung cops, shemales, **** ****** robbery, space aliens, punk, romance, opera, revenge...
And probably some splatter and gore on the side
No problem
What do you want to know?
I have no secrets
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
It follows close to my mind
Infecting those around me
The faces that grew me in one way or the other
Its metastatic narcolepsy filling the world with silence
Like to many candles in the wind
Blew out the breath's light
Snuffing out the beauty of living
Haunting, lingering in the edges
A hope battle that is over before it began.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
First phase:
Car windows, cold ones, winter. You were three. To this day from time to time you'll put your fingertips against the glass because it reminds you of simple things from the past. You always thought the world looked looked like it was unhappy from back seats, like it was reflecting your own complacency.
Phase two:
Narcolepsy. You can't stay awake anymore because when you're awake it's like you're dreaming and surrounded by reclusiveness and weeping and when you're asleep it's like you're alive and you're hearts still beating.
Phase three:
Car windows, nonexistent, summer.
You were five, nine, ten, thirteen, fourteen, sixteen, and seventeen.
Songs. Nostalgia. Windows. Sun. Sticky air, air that smothers you. Smiles with people you love. Songs. Those **** songs.
Phase four:
Punching walls, kicking objects, throwing breakable things, slamming doors. Screaming so loud you make yourself cry.
I learned from the best.
Final phase:
Leaving.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
conduit of bliss
with a phobia
of narcolepsy
-
walking
as if hacked
by a definitely
clever
fuck newly enrolled
in a course
on private
speaking
-
my brother
-
who staged
his after life
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC