I want to write a poem
about the state of things
with sharp wit and criticism
jacks, clubs, spades, Kings

I want to write a poem
about mental health
and how the crazy could be the sane
with less serotonine and more wealth

I want to write a poem
about my state of mind
of floating numbers, shifting colours,
brittle nerves and choking vines

I want to write a poem
about the winter weather
Naked maples, cracked cement,
sugar plums, sleepful ether

I want to write a poem
about a soothing blend of tea
Steeping time, orange peels,
history in unfurling leaves

I want to write a poem
about my final resting place
one with candles, herbs and lilies
a quiet "Hail Mary, full of Grace."

I want to write a poem
about making marmalde,
coriander spice cake and
fresh chopped lavender, food grade

But mostly I want to write a poem
about anything at all
but every time I even try
I hit a ******* wall.

I don't like to tell stories. I like to tell people. Personally, I believe anyone can tell a story - be it a good or a bad one. Stories are simple. What makes a story alive, however, are the people in it: they make it come alive, they make it pulsate, and breathe, they become the story itself, with its bumps, with its ups and downs, its hills and mountains and oceans. Its veins, its lungs, its heart, its brain. Even the most simplistic, uncomplicated, dull story can turn into a blossoming flower, alive with the passion and hatred of the people in it. I like to tell people. The human soul, stripped to its bare backbone. The human soul violated, mutilated. The human soul in all its earnestness. I like to dissect human emotions, to trace back ambition, desire, fear, eagerness, disgust. To take all that makes us human and to carefully twist and bend it to my tastes and preferences. I do not care for the story. I care for bravery and cowardice, I care for cunningness and lust, glutony and barrenness. I care for the living, flowing blood of a story: namely, its people. You tell a crime. I tell the criminal. I tell her deepest desires, her greatest fears, I tell her insecurities, her pride, I tell the way she takes her coffee, I tell what she dreams of at night. You tell a love story. I tell the story of love itself. I tell the way a heart beats against a rib-cage, the way it flutters like a bird trapped; I tell the way palms sweat, throats dry. I tell the way dopamine and serotonine pump through the veins and make pupils dilate. I tell emotions. I tell humanity. The story matters little. The story is a shell, a mere curtain dropped before the real show has even begun. What interests me, what fascinates me, what makes my brain moan with pleasure, is the fate of the human soul, bared of all pretence. So tell your stories all you like. Tell your petty complicated mysteries and your unrequited loves. I take the soul and bare it, and eat it raw. The soul of the story itself: its people.

I thought it was still daytime,
But now it’s 3 A.M.,
The only part still working?
I think it is my brain stem
The rest is all a mess,
I just have to confess
I’m really scared of the dark,
And I know it’s trying to suppress,
The light.

The dopamine
And serotonine,
To keep it very simple
They’re just being awful, mean
My brain is waging war on me,
And now it’s way past 3,
It’s difficult to tell,
All I know is that I dwell,
Dwell in my own dark mind,
The place that I’m assigned,
Is the worst I could’ve gotten
Can’t see a thing, was I forgotten?
Did they just turn off the light
While I’m still present?
Or did my brain just flick the light switch
without my consent?

I’m walking on my own,
Walking through the dark,
I just need a light switch,
Or maybe just a spark,
To reset my heart, reset my mind,
I don’t think it can hurt,
Anymore than right now as I desert,
Everything and everyone I know,
Curing yourself feels like trying to lick your elbow
Impossible, improbable
My head is really vulnerable

My eyes can see but it’s still pitch-black
I wish I had a flashlight in my backpack
I’d need one of enormous proportions,
To get rid of the darkness
that causes all these distortions
Tangles in all my cranial nerves
My mind observes, but it doesn’t care
It’s so confused, I mean who, what where
Are you gonna go, gonna flee,
Maybe I’ll just go and drive into a tree

All the light gets covered up by darkness,
It makes the world feel really heartless
I turn my brightness down all the way
Of my phone, of my home
Even of my mind as I scream into the microphone
Wanting to cry, wanting to die,
All this lack of light makes me wanna say goodbye
To myself, my reflection
My very own subjectively constructed perception,
It must all be a misconception
That darkness fades away when the light comes into play,
But let me tell you they coexist, yeah the darkness finds a way

I’m walking on my own,
Walking through the dark,
I just need a light switch,
Or maybe just a spark,
To reset my heart, reset my mind,
I don’t think it can hurt,
Anymore than right now as I desert,
Everything and everyone I know,
Curing yourself feels like trying to eat a rainbow
Impossible, improbable
My head is really vulnerable

I thought it was still night time,
But now it’s 2 P.M.,
The only part still working?
I think it is my brain stem
The rest is all a mess,
I just have to confess
I’m really scared of the light, 
the dark and nothing feels right
Why does everything seem upside down?

My mind is like a dark, spooky, haunted little ghost town

The sun is still not up, even though we’re in the afternoon,
It’s being covered by a darkness, that big orb called the moon
It seems like the eclipse this time is taking years and years,
Or maybe it’s just a clever way of symbolizing my fears.
No, it’s definitely the moon.

Ik heb je nodig om te leven,
niet nog voor het opstaan
op te geven.
Mijn hormonenspiegel
weerkaatst indrukwekkend weinig licht,
terwijl de schaal een gebrek kent
aan lichaamsgewicht.
Mede wegens die problemen
moet ik je elke dag toedienen.
Ik heb een passionele haat
voor het opnemen in overmaat
van serotonine.