"schizophrenia" poems
Skyscrapers and mango trees wearing boxer briefs.
The tantalizing wind blows caressing paperclips and mortuary signs—
turning them indigo red for we all know that dead bodies are nothing but dead.
Hymns of love and soliloquies of the unconscious ego—
Id of our time but men of the past be our hero.
Leaving to wonder, if king Nebuchadnezzar was a crack-feign
would Coca Cola still educate penguins on the importance of Lesbian Existence?
For in this war of life, cockroaches are the real winners,
and the taste of excellence is only reserved for fire extinguishers —
so if nuclear clouds persist,
let the fire burn with love and you lay on the bed of oblivion
cuddling the moral that capitalism leads to schizophrenia.
So insure your sanity for free 99, this, with warm regards from yours truly,
Rhizome of Golgotha.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
Crazy, dumd, ugly
Give me another word to through in this poem
This **** describes me
This **** defines me
Don't you know?
Haven't you heard?!
Disappointing, unworthy, AND useless!?!?
Okay....
(Schizophrenia, learning disability, drug use etc.)
**** I guess I found an excuss for almost every defining, outlining, "description" about me!!!
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
I used to know things about people, it was all too easy for me to figure them out.
I used to dread the day when I had found out I've failed, when I couldn't save someone. Strange or depressing as it may seem, I'm glad I haven't had to attend all the funerals I tried to prepare myself for.
I used to know if someone had ever been touched wrongly. Unwillingly. How far past their "no's" were gotten. I can't do that anymore, I don't know how to help anymore.
I used to cry at all the pain, I used to sob myself to sleep. These days I try anything just to feel a single tear on my cheek.
I used to hear things without finding or ever questioning the source. I used to sing out my struggles to the sounds I heard while crying on my backyard's swing set. I still hear it sometimes, but maybe that's just my imagination.
My mom told me I used to see angels. All I can remember was being scared of the footprints on my ceiling. Maybe they were angels, maybe they were demons. Maybe they were just early signs of schizophrenia.
Was all of that just preparation?
Was it all just a coincidence?
Is this real? Is it God's work? Is it fate?
Do I believe in any of that anymore???
Who knew that a conversation over cigarettes with you would leave me so confused.
Is our craziness compatible, like taking a drug together and having the same trip?
Or maybe we're gifted with seeing things for how they really are.
Or maybe its just you.
Maybe I'm lost forever.
I need to walk your path.
I heard sounds in the woods with you
But was it the same music?
Do we share the same insanity?
Tell me if its a blessing or a curse.
Tell me if its worth all the pain.
Tell me if I can handle it... if I won't **** myself first.
Does the light in everything outweigh the darkness?
Tell me what you think about souls now.
Does everything live forever?
Can you still see their light if they're dead?
Tell me what you feel.
Tell me what you know now.
I want your truths.
This has to be real.
My world has been flipped and turned inside out.
But finally, for once, I think everything makes sense.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 3:12 AM UTC
In the hours of cold morning mist
Come schizophrenia and creativity's loving tryst
Their offspring
Irrational thoughts of course insist
Madness is preferable to reality
Often desired and endlessly pursued
Come forth
The golden hours of light
The nebulous darkness
Cowers with weakness and fright
Irrational thoughts laughing insist
After much consideration
Madness is preferable to reality
But the night must have its say
Its arrival announced by the falling of the day
Naughty children
Irrational thoughts unyielding insist
Madness is preferable to reality
@ copyright Tammy M Darby October 21, 2018.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 7:15 AM UTC
Life can be painless
Provided there is sufficient
Peacefulness
For a dozen or so rituals
To be repeated simply
Endlessly
Your genius does not fail you
It allows you to understand the
Truth of the situation;
Which makes you--at times--
more tragic than ever
And your genius,
like all geniuses
Suffers periodic fits
of monumental
naïveté
Hi-ho
Listen:
Where is Grace
When milk and blood
Are about to be added
To the composition of the
Stinking ping-pong
***** being manufactured
In Grand Rapids?
Schizophrenia
The sound and appearance
Of the word fascinates
It sounds and looks to me
Like a human being
Sneezing in a blizzard of
Soapflakes
This much we know:
You made yourself hideously
Uncomfortable by not narrowing
Your attention to details
Of life that were immediately
Important
And by refusing to believe what
Your neighbors believed
Hi-ho
Let your imagination continue
To be the flywheel on the
Ramshackle machinery of the truth.
But not the ‘awful’ truth
The ‘beauty’ in truth
Because we are a part
Of a system that is very
Restless,
With people tearing around
All the time
Every so often,
somebody stops to put up
A monument
Ours is a country where
Everybody is expected to
Pay his own bills for
Everything,
And one of the most
Expensive things a person
Can do is get sick
Grace:
Because if we stay here
We’ll do one of two things
(or both!)
Build a Commune
Or do like Collin Heise did:
Make the main thing that we
do be this:
Move seventy-eight
Thousand pounds of olives
To Tulsa, Oklahoma
Even if we can’t
Improve the quality of our surroundings
We’ll do our best to make our
Insides beautiful instead
Piebald Roadtrip-writing, baby
Hi-ho
You are the turtle
able to live anywhere
even under water for short periods
With your home on your back
A particular comfort in
Realizing that it so often feels
There is no order in the
World around us
That we must adapt ourselves to
The requirements of
Chaos instead
Remember:
We are healthy
Only to the extent that
Our ideas are
Humane
To you
To me
To ourselves
To We
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
Orange peel Thursdays and the Velcro shoes
Of children hordes
Who spider up Alice on toadstools in Central Park
Dusted psilocybin shoots my eyes through
With the clarity of ice and sliced mushroom
Steeping in stomach acid before finding blood
The kids are tripping like madmen or halloween candy
Like its time to release and give up to the nonsense
And let your young self congeal to a saccharine sludge
I don’t stroll in the park to keep my mind sharp
I’m here because it’s a riot
My head can throb to the jittery birds
And the blasts of carsong
It’s the right kind of rhythm to walk to
** ** **
Ketamine days and the lolling slums
To make sure the insane stay insane
And the hobos are washed with spit from the clouds
And the subway exhaust always hangs in our hair
And the old Coney Island burns again and twice more
We don’t pretend to understand what we see
In subway grates thirty feet wide
Like the earth punching out of work for a bit
Opening to you her *** belly
So you can check out the strips of metal inside
Before she slurps you down and with an esophageal squeeze
Shoots you through the turnstiles
The train squeals and grinds down our eyes
With thoughts as slow as ketamine
Makes room for schizophrenia in a conversation
We’re listening to ‘til sundown
** ** **
Years full of Brooklyn and the assorted pills
Makes offal fit for punks in name brand shoes
Squared off with police in the park
Being beaten for the fun of being beaten
Peacoat locals pass the days in supermarkets
And you grow up to the loony mumble
Of the woman who knows the boat
Moored at the end of the street
Mansion of the stray cat colony
You help her with her daily chore to feed them
Tabbies popping the pills of the homeless
And puking in tandem all over their house
Living off generous dying folk
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 4:02 PM UTC
/ innocent until prōven guilty,
contra guilty until
prōven innocent...
ah!
so the minority report?
guilty, while innocent,
based upon a premonition?
hindsight with a zodiac
type of interpretation...
innocent until prōven guilty
has no superiority
in practice over the continental
guilty until prōven innocent...
no... because the principle invokes
presuppositions,
of suppositions...
treating the two as propositions -
or rather... "verbs" inacted...
innocent until prōven guilty -
then no understanding of freedom,
at least guilty until prōven innocent
allows understanding
restraint, however unfair,
with 18 years lost...
and then the tears of relief!
Tomasz Komenda...
an "espionage" case of staging
empathy...
en masse...
an innocent man walks away
from falsely imposed justice measures...
a redemption...
a count de monte cristo
allowance...
but in reverse?
the evil man walks free...
succumbing to old age,
and dementia, a pontius pilate pardon...
there is no redemption aspect
of the saxon course of applying jurisprudence...
the... innocent, until prōven guilty,
contra: guilty until prōven innocent
schizophrenia?
the latter overshadows
the former...
because we're not babies...
at least with the latter:
there's a redemption exegesis -
but with the former?
bitter-sweet tears within
the confines, of an example akin
to jimmy savile...
guilty until prōven innocent
has much more authentic emotional
content, with a redemption narrative...
innocent until prōven guilty
has? not much,
just a grave,
and the stunted emotional expression,
what ought to be flowers
within the heart,
instead: fungus, growing in the dark...
and thus... translating
to other hearts:
let's allow this chemo-phobia
chemo-philia experiment
be left intact in its the momentum...
honestly... the study of law -
is probably the ********* game
in the allowance of games of
adulthood... one tier above gambling.
p.s.
because you know there's proof:
and that the past-participle
thrown into a future, does require
an omega rather than an omicron...
not an oh, but an ooh...
hence? reign from above,
on the omicron, with a macron (ō).
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
To Marianna
When blue night mattresses
cover the city
Schizophrenia , depression , deception
they all cross the avenues
or rather swim in redness
the green rain stagnates
in the brothel's garden
the cat leaning on the stair
landing shuffles the deck of cards
a sweating Eros slides on a female
yet so manly river his signature
Monet .
Giorgos Vlachos
10.11.2008
Translation : Christos Rodoullas Tsiailis
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
Whirlwind demonic dervish, lights flash,
Psyche rides alive!
Schizophrenia bites, jagged knife blade, soul caught, brain flavour caught, snatched by diathermy wires...!
Burning always,
No, not me, someone long ago once known, dead in body...don't know how deceased..!
Found alone in chair, cold stone!
Left bejewelled gift,
Pure treasure chest ,
Legacy of dream escape,
Female child now twenty three!
Livvi Kent27/04/2013
(no he was actually really sweet just very messed up Not the demonic man from "Secret Conception", that was just a write!)
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC
SCHIZOPHRENIA
A long-term mental disorder of a type involving a breakdown in the relation between thought, emotion, and behavior, leading to faulty perception, inappropriate actions and feelings, withdrawal from reality and personal relationships into fantasy and delusion, and a sense of mental fragmentation.
http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/
Thank You Dearest Readers
Thank You Dearest Readers! I’ve created a poetry story but you make them alive
I’ve nearly give up along but you encourage this poetry story to survive
Every read, every vote and every comment counts
Driving my head into full speed, dancing non-stop in a beat of a beautiful sound
Thank You Dearest Readers! For all the love and care
Your simple words of saying “stay strong” I feel them really I swear
Yet this is only a poetry story but to me most emotions are true
I’ve been to the darkest clouds but somehow you clear my gray and blue
Thank You Dearest Readers! For all the ideas and corrections
Pointing out your views truly help me travel to a right direction
You really deserve my respect and admiration
Adding some flavor to what I’ve baked, a sweet cake with dedication
Thank You Dearest Readers! How I love to shout out your names
To all of you who helped in one way or another and played my sport your game
My Dearest Readers, Thanks for a beautiful journey
This is “MY SCHIZOPHRENIA” and this is MY STORY…..
Until Then…
Love n' Care...
Mysterious Aries
THE END
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 6:28 AM UTC
***I was lost on the pavement
Along the corridors
Who left me unspoke through the scattered bloods
That left me hang on a cliff
My eyes was beneath the aftershock
But all I could do is to stare at the ceiling
No words to be found nor sounds could form
Only the laugh,scream and yells of the crowd
The thunderstorm,chill of the breezing air
Wants me to follow the serene.
My catatonic blueprinted smile was fainted
Schizophrenia that I could last at the moment
And yet an honorific began to squeeze me
There were thousands of people
But I could feel like im on the spotted arena
If I could shout out loud and escape from the reality then I'd go save by the bell.***
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
Sitting in the floor
Pulling my hair
Surrounded by thousands of people
That are not really there.
I feel the bugs on my skin
The thoughts tell me to hang myself
I ask "When"?
Loud noises from the hollow
All in my head
Throwing up the pills I did not swallow.
Oh God, where are you now
I'm going crazy
I'm going to **** myself... Somehow
Wrote a note to my mom
I'm so sorry I said
Eight years ago
I'm still not dead.
* YOU CAN OVERCOME THIS*
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
.*oh forget Disney H'america... technicolor H'america was the bomb... gentlemen prefer blondes... oh **** no... the seven year itch... the Rachmaninoff scene... bell, book & candle scene... whoever the genius was behind the technicolor project, outmatched the Disney in 1950s H'america... little town America... big little ******** worth of Europe... eddi reader...more like: keep the cats, a woman may desire luxury, but a man a freedom... keep the town, the summit, the fireplace... keep your luxury... just give me the shadow, the sun, the moon, and the road: perpetually greeting me.*
oh forget looking
for scapegoats
these days...
full blown schizophrenia,
happening,
all over the anglophone
world...
me?
i'm just looking
at the lampoons...
sorry...
lemmings...
and the English?
top the table in western
world...
they thought they'd be
bailed out by
the H'americans...
good luck rolling
that pin-ball...
not gonna happen...
they have their own ****
to deal with...
it could have...
but now it will never
work out, no anglophone
alliance bail-out plan...
it's a ******* farce...
it's a bogus in the bogie
in the ******* coalmine...
forget the canary...
**** i'm seriously flipping
the coin on phrases...
FDR contra DJT?
magic!
no... the politicians were always
going to place the card...
the joker... free-fall dance-loose
feet...
my bet is...
it'll fall flat on its face...
the eastern European Achilles
heel of the europhiles...
that's a supposition,
not a proposition...
or thereby, pre-....
but i do love being a spectator
of rare sport...
en masse schizophrenia...
a nation, divided...
what a load of ********
the English thought that their
anglophone alliances would
last, would encrust them in
a new globalization mechanism...
even the ******* Icelandic people
think they're European...
what did the English think?
just east of Las Vegas?!
an island surrounded
by a massive prehistorical lake
"facility"?!
no one is looking for scapegoats
these days,
there's no one to blame...
mea culpa, mea culpa...
these days?!
everyone is looking for the lampoon
brigade!
- and let me tell you...
mea culpa mea culpa...
no one is looking for a scapegoat
worth kristallnacht;
people are looking
for a lampoon...
or...
karmesinrotherznacht,
the night of... broken hearts;
broken, crimson hearts.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
schizophrenia is back.
I talk to the creature sat at the end of my bed,
He takes his hands and places them on my head,
I cry into his palms,
He is humble,
He is kind,
The only vision that has been in the whole of my life.
I tell him my troubles,
My worries,
My pain,
He whispers and tells me to keep being sane.
I tell him I lost my mind a long time ago,
He says
"Oh my dear, no. You are the one who's sane amoung a world that is crazy. Take this your gift and let your life flow."
He tucks me into bed,
Wipes my eyes,
Tells me to never believe anyone's lies,
He leaves me now,
Walks away,
I close my eyes,
And drift away.
After a lifetime of "my gift" giving me grief,
Pain, despair, and broken belief,
The creature he showed me,
That not all is bad,
There is hope still,
maybe I'm really not mad.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 1:59 PM UTC
Under the branches Where the tall grass grows, There’s a people who hide And no one knows. The way they survive Is like none other, For they fear the world And all its terror. They hear the voices And see the shadows, They live in darkness And shake and cower. They live but In harsh conditions, Making the craziest Rash decisions. Everyone wants To put them to death, But I say stand up And fight for who’s left. The problem doesn’t lie In the heart of the ****** But in the mind Their thoughts are filled with typos. They twitch and hide And want to die, But nobody sees The demons inside. The voices that haunt them The nightmares that stick, The noises torture them Jumping off the highest peak. Terror and delusion The river that roars, The horrible psychosis The mania implores. These people know nothing But how to live, With the horrible fate That they’ll never be saved.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
In March of 2010 a 46 year old white male was brought to this hospital after a severe 'episode'. He was placed in the Mental Health Intensive Care Unit . He was diagnosed with " Major Depression ". This is considered Slow Death , a treatable disorder by the AMA currently . Artist and Architect will lay out Hallucinations and conceptual designs , Engineers , Mathematicians and Surveyors will coordinate more pills at higher doses because minute details to within fractions of an inch followed by schizophrenia by Earth moving equipment , graders , bulldozers , psychotic episodes , dump trucks , Carpenters and Concrete , bi-polar disorder and Bricklayer will labor different Help treatment methods because the drugs are having absolutely no piece by piece constructing form , pylon , shoring embankments for Steel Worker and Welder ,Pipefitter and Increased risk of suicide was reported for Plumber and all manner of tradesman , supplier and Pharmacist ........
Psychiatrist and Psychologist will formulate a treatment plan which will include drug therapy and counseling sessions with Electrician and patient and Spouse plus other family members if needed in order to reach the island Drowning which will be a difficult task . Emory Hospital is conducting new research because they finally admit to depression drugs not working in Freak more than half the patients today , like every other building bridges in hopes of getting to the island that is depression .
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
Words can’t describe the way that I feel
When I look into your eyes
I hear your silent cries
Through the stillness calling out for me
To pull you from the void
I want to reach into your soul
Banish your demons, silence your screaming
I just want to make you whole
I wish I that I could see you fly
Spread your wings and soar up high
But to see you is not to see you
Cos something else wears your face
And to be with you is not to be with you
Cos something else shares your place
Words can’t describe all the things I see
When I look into your eyes
I see through your disguise
Into your soul, staring back at me
Through the windows of your cell
Trapped beneath those layers of pain
Screaming for release, drowning in defeat
I just want to break your chains
I wish I that I could see you fly
Spread your wings and soar up high
But to see you is not to see you
Cos something else wears your face
And to be with you is not to be with you
Cos something else shares your place
Words can’t describe how much pain I keep
Hidden deep behind my eyes
The tears that I don’t cry
You don’t see the scars I hide beneath
I just want to set you free
But I know I won’t see you fly
Spread your wings and soar up high
Cos to see you is not to see you
Since something else wears your face
And to be with you is not to be with you
Cos something else shares your place
Soon you’ll lose control, break your oath
No matter how you fight them, can’t always hide them
And when the time comes they’ll **** us both
Copyright © 2016-2017 KF
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
No matter how many pills
No matter how strong
No matter the cocktail of meds
I can't seem to be who they want.
I can't be the ideal human
I can't be that model of society
I can't bring myself to swallow their rules
I can't stand up and swallow their pills any longer
I know what they want from me
I know how they want me
I know what everyone wants
Everyone but me
You know what its like
Depression dragging behind you all day
The psychopath in you screaming to gain reigns
The crazy illusions as schizophrenia settles in
The lack of anything as the sociopath wraps you in a blanket
The madness that you've grown to love
As it all slowly takes you your handed a cup with a pill
It is the cage to keep your mind as it is alive
It lets you step outside the hovel of your mind
And lock all those memories and screaming away
A new you
Is it really you anymore
Our reason is based upon who we've grown up as
Why can't we think how we were made too
Why are we to blame when we didn't raise ourselves
The key to your mind was and will never be the pills
The medicine is just a cage to mold you how they want us
The key to our happiness is and will always be ourselves
Its in all of our minds
That sickening depression do what relieves it
The psychopathic beast inside unleash it
The schizophrenic visions embrace them
The lack of humanity that blankets your mind
Let yourself do as your supposed
No one in this world can make you happy all the time
No one but ourselves
We are our own master of mind.
If reason doesn't suit you release it.
Madness is like a comforter when you wake up on a cold day
It will keep you happy and healthy
Accept the medicine if you want reality
If reality even with the cage isn't comfortable come with me
Dance in the madness of anarchy
Let your mind run free
Let yourself be who you were born to be
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC
Freedom of the things that shake me
I'm still stuck in the things that chain me
The hurt that broke and changed me
My heart breaks as they stare at me
Selfish and selfless
Broken and stolen
I drown myself out as I scream from the cage
I choke it down and add to my rage
Help them to save myself from me
It's so hard to be what they want me to be
I stay in my head controlled by my exoskeleton
Encased in a suit of skin that isn't mine
It's scars aren't my own
The voices whisper my disappearance
Cutting me and screaming
Hurting me and crushing my being
Six feet under or walking the earth
What does it matter if it always hurts
Mar 3, 2021
Mar 3, 2021 at 3:17 PM UTC
In the company of familiar strangers,
The type you know like a ranger,
Or that with the spirit of a teenager,
Not knowing or completely identifying,
But still ****** with through consequence and conceptualizing.
Though some take the form of friendly faces,
Others take form like that of a nightmare that makes you walk in paces,
Reminding you of the turmoil inside your mind,
The fight between your perception and what you find,
What you see in the mirror and what you hide behind,
Finding the faces chase you with ideas they do not underpine
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC
Last I could remember was my sister,
Running towards me with a sharp blade and blood blister.
Vacant mornings and bed of plain routine,
2 years past since the loss of queen.
Neck eternally stamped with a razor knot,
Thoughts nevermore within vengeance plot.
But sobered up, I’ve seen it all before,
No sister nor blister, a schizophrenic lore.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC
A psych ward is the place to be,
Come along, and you will see.
You'll be welcomed by forgotten silent deaths
and torturous screams.
An everlasting place of a need to be free.
Come on down to the "freak show",
We'll show you how we rock and roll,
Some say that we're unhinged,
But trust me honey, the fun is about to begin.
A lobotomy a day keeps the schizophrenia away they say,
An electric chair isn't the cruelest thing there,
By far it is knowing that you are not crazy, amongst a world that is.
We'll dance for you, we do it well.
But if we don't, torture will make it amends.
We sit here day on day, hoping for freedom,
Uncanny, unlikely, and an impossible dream.
A psych ward is the place to be,
We'll grow old here and die a forgotten death,
The music is still playing,
The patients are still dancing,
This is my last day.
So come on down to our freak show, join our family, we'll show you how to rock and roll,
And die insanely.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 7:17 AM UTC
Next to your pyre
Nest to your flame
I am ashamed by my mortality
these days have made ash accumulating of me
the grown-up ghost I'm taken to be
a soundless sonder
Through another man's lens
through another boy's poem
you are still beautiful to me
Some other man's Eurydice
Some boy who didn't turn around
when faced with the world only a few steps away
Now I am buried under this city
practicing sleepless nights
I talk to you backwards and pray for the world to begin again
a double exposure in third person
the picture makes sense, the pieces don't fit together
My schizophrenia in monochrome
Limerance,
though spurious
pending supplication
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 7:03 AM UTC
It’s hell.
You’re living in hell.
Every day your hallucinations and delusions carry you futher and futher away from reality till one day you’re totally engulfed by them.
You watch yourself fall deeper and deeper and then you crash.
And it’s like you’ve never existed, nothing has ever existed.
You’ve become this empty vessel controlled by your demons.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC