I wrote you a poem
Titled it gravity
For your lack of it
And how that made me want you more
Called the scars in your eyes stability
Those were the only things that remained
I am looking for sand to set my anchor on
This is how i just keep sinking
But you
You were fluidity in motion you were the
Once a week reminder that
Typhoons hit and people change
When my moods were changing tides
On the days my speech was so rapid and my eyes so clear it made everyone want me
Atleast thats how it appeared to me
But for the days when my arms drag me out to sea and you have a hand over these fists begging me to let go of these ******* bricks as you kick
Afraid ill drown us both
And i would
If it werent for the flight in your smle keeping us up
Afloat
I pray you dont drop me for the wight of us both can be too much for you to carry

i'm unmedicated,
but when you fell asleep between your glass of Merlot and the outside of my left leg,
I was sedated.

my bones never enjoyed saturation, or even understood how someone else could experience something similar; they just reflect raindrops like a two-way window pane.

now, it all hits me in brief, powerful bursts like a short-range shotgun blast and in long waves like electroconvulsive therapy that gives you painful memories instead of making them go away.

i hadn't felt anything in years but even brick walls have soft spots. Even spiders can abandon webs and become kings.* Even someone so full of nothing could feel like the new year wouldn't bring more pills and that love could fly without restricted access areas or delays due to what they claim is the weather but is really pain being drained in the wrong sink, one either too puke-stained or too leaky.

i finally realized that color television was a worthy investment. I can recognize how much brighter black and white seemed when you gave me what I perceived to be the inside of your arteries: red, black and blue humming along at a pace that felt synonymous with what I perceived to be equilibrium.

i am no longer sedated

We are immobilized
veins thick
with toxins
brains saturated
with synthetic sensation.

Get out of bed
pill pundits.
Who do you love?
There is bliss without
a script.
Somewhere.

Look at yourself
****** harlots.
Now look in the mirror.
Is it a surprise that the same face
didn’t appear?

Stand straight,
sloppy sippers.
Take the flask out of your glove compartment
you can’t pregame life.

Come clean,
nicotine queens.
We say we do it
because we don’t care when we die
but I care if you draw your last shallow breath
before mine.

We are the machine,
**** fiends.
We can’t be fueled
by ten sacks
and melancholic
dead dreams.

I am envious
sober superstars,
of your greatest feat,
waking in the morning
and walking
on your own
two feet.

It’s amazing how one hospital trip can change the rest of your life. Or even lack of one even. He was four. I, three.  It was late, I had no idea why I was going to Bridget and John’s house. More importantly, I didn’t know why Zack wasn’t coming with me. 11 pm, I guess that’s pretty late for a three year old. I don’t think at that point I really had any grasp on what was actually happening. That nothing would ever be the same again. Half asleep, trudging to that sliding glass door I’d seen hundreds of times. I went into the house, the aroma of sweet cinnamon and love hung in the air.
      Burnt toast and peanut butter. That pretty much sums up an entire year of my life. Three years old, and for almost every weekend, which was too many, spent with Bridget and John, sleepless nights and peanut butter toast. There was: late night toast, midnight toast, way too early morning toast, morning toast, breakfast toast, too much toast. I think I was a picky three year old, then again, that isn’t exactly unheard of. I wasn’t very fond of peanut butter or toast, but I still ate it. I yearned for a sweet taste of normality. I craved something routine. Funny, because my life was everything but normal during that year. Funny, because I will never eat peanut butter toast ever, again.
     Many nights spent waiting for an answer. Wishing to go back, and hoping for everything to be okay. But as the car rolled out of the gravel driveway on that first night, so did an unmedicated future for my brother.

I remember
we would retreat
to the isolated solace
of our bedroom
Quarantining ourselves
from the strain of existence
in that murderous crushing
outside world
As we engaged in
things both metaphysical
and physical
I would rest my head
on your chest
listening to the enthralled
chambers of your heart
and if
my mind would not
quiet
you would tell me
'Be still.
Be calm.
Do not rely
on the words of
others.
Tell me something
in your own words.'
It was only in the comfort
of your utmost attention
that I felt at peace.

It was a bad night last night
My tear stained cheeks
and sliced up wrists
can vouch.
I never know what I'm thinking anymore...
Or why.
I just know that I am.

It's scary,
You know...
Being like this.
I get scared,
and other people get scared.
More often than not,
I can't control these thoughts...
These protruding and unwelcome thoughts
but I don't know what to do.
I never know what to do anymore.
I just know that I've had a lot of bad nights lately.
A lot of them.
But I don't know what to do.

To he honest I'm pretty ******* tired of being on my own
Im not really
But still my lack of love makes me angry
Yet I'm Y
               oU
                    N
                        g
That's what everyone else says anyway
Still I'm crazy and no longer problematic
Happy but never enough to prevent sadness
Out to most but still hiding from the majority
Avoiding the conflict I once used to untimely cause and angry at my protagonistic temperament
Raising it's head once in a foreign land
But it didn't last long because previous pain is still there
The oppositions have since dropped from the ceiling to an unknown cause but my webs are still in position camping out in the corner
a silk prospector expressing only malevolent intent
Never really meaning and now that im controlling the pain it's hard to admit, but there's part of me that still reigns in the areas of that room
Skulking through the tears usually my own labelled jester for those on that egotistical throne
So maybe my confidence flickering and unnerving, split between the characters I get to play between the seasons is one of the significant catalysts and thousands of reasons that I'm now on my own
everyone an opposition on my radar
the choice,
to be a villain for the people of my past or be trampled over by those in my present, an insight into my future.
That's if I make it because my obvious disdain is a recognizable trait like my unbearing love and attraction for Unrequited beauty and my I'll advised impulse to avoid the problem
                     make a list of all my excuses
           And Run to the next person most likely to become my biggest predator when I unfurl infront my secrets and ambitions secret Acts of betrayal while on independent side missions
    Diagnosed as ****** and unmedicated
              Mad when alone
    Discontent with my social standing
  And just wanting someone special to.                         bring home

And I have loved you more than I anyone I have loved before
( How would I know, as there has been no one else )
Perhaps more than I will love anyone, ever
( And I know for sure )
I set up my defences on the outside, but maybe I needed to protect myself from myself
( But what would you have me do )
When you see lightning for the first time, a wonder out of nowhere
The way it streaks across the skies, like you often streaked across my mind
When every subsequent clash of atoms and eons will never equal the first time
Seeing magik marble across your eyelids, a smile adorns your face
And you know you will never be the same again
( So what of this pain, will it ever subside )
Perhaps a memory can transform into a throbbing hurt
One that comes and goes, like the ebb and the flow of the rushing tide
Or triggered by a smell, a perfume, the sound of laughter
that could’ve been yours, or the way someone holds onto their fork
I never thought it would be you, but now you are a throbbing pain
Unmedicated, unattended but a mass of self perpetuating burning questions
Like neurons (mis)firing and kneejerk reactions
Churning out what if’s and propositions and assumptions and empty dreams
You birthed a thousand little cares that linger at the back of my throat
Causing me to gag every so often
But the mast has been set and this rotting ship will continue to sail
Rickety as she is, she searches for replacement parts
All the while creating myths and legends and convulated stories
This tunnel is long but maybe there is a glimmer of hope at the end of it
I can hold out for a breath of fresh air, something must remain
( But what of those questions that still remain )
Maybe I should have tried a little harder
Fought a little more, shouted a little louder
But you can’t stop the path of a tornado
I stood in front of it and was swept off my feet
And it pulled wool over my eyes, but I still saw the light
Filtered as it was through unravelling strands of thread
Pull, pull, pull
Until it all comes undone.

Screams of the deranged
Into the night, full of fury
Black tipped roses arranged
Into a vase, ribbon laced
Medicated mind, controlled
Within the one to be used
Experimental abuse, skin cold
Sand slips down the time-keep

"Do it." whispers the black-tipped petals of roses

Whispering thoughts of the ******
Is this love?     Yes
Ropes tied tighter with a lustful hand
Bruises reaching inner soul
Soul of a single rose is dropped
As a loving plea is softly spoken
Fading voice immediately popped
Pleasure for the drugged mind

"Do it!" chuckles the blackening petals of roses

Slowing sands in the time-keep, felled
Sobering mind on drugged love
Unmedicated reality unveiled
Sorrowful hands loosen bands
Crows flurry in flight, startled
As sobs of hurt fight the drugs
worthless     blur is fading, unfurled
Bodies on the floor of pain
Shouts of anger as a soul slipped
Was it lust? Was it drugs?
Medicated hell was dipped
Too far? Too dark?
Breath of life gasps, forced

"Do it!" hisses the reddening petals of roses

Promises are made, real or hoaxed?
Liar
Was it life saved or life spared?
If promise of healing is true
Then life has been saved
But if the fallacy of the addicted
Proves to be too strong to resist
Then the sands will flow uncorrected
And the roses shall again fade to black.

Every bit of pain I felt as a child
And worked my whole life to forget
Is floating to the surface at an
Alarming rate.

Feeling wild and loose in my head,
like I've got a hurricane attached to my name,
it's headed your way,
And boy you're here for the wreck.
Doctors exams running late,
this medication check is a month too late.
Government shutdown is changing the mental state,
And how we deal,
And what we do,
And please get me the f* out of here.
At least being gone,
I won't have to carry all these words around.
These letters are heavy and hurt my brain,
I don't have the patience to continue to psychoanalyze.
I'm lugging around this baggage and I'm starting to feel like it's too late,
in a constant state of pain,
what could I possibly have to gain?

you know it's bad
when i would rather deal with my unmedicated depression
than this loss of you.
-a.c.b

Ray

dead silence
“its too ****** quiet in here!
No wonder people hang themselves in here. If there were hooks there would be people on each one of them!”
His 60 year old smooth Puerto Rican english
better than the young white prison guard
“I need my meds! Its been 3 days!”
His afro cuban beats on the cell doors
helped me sleep it through
handcuffed together in a fast swerving moving van
a dangerous steel space
with no where to hold
a hard smooth steel bench
slippery and hard
sciatic nerve damage
unmedicated
looking out the diagonal steel lined window
“in the near future. This will be an amusement ride. To show how inhumane it used to be before whiteness was human.”
I slept
he didn’t
his eyes were losing their focus
amazing man being killed by a business
those mental ills of whiteness  
guards had no idea
how special these humans were
that they made them not autonomous
the captivity and its brutality
captivity and bad communication
the failure of whiteness
these prisoners are found not guilty
it should be slanted towards those that our innocent
not slanted toward white mass murderes
or the mental illness of whitenes

I know I'm not the best
but I'm pretty **** impressive

sure, yeah, I used to do those stupid violent things

and I still have those stupid urges to defend myself from an invisible threat
and the sinking feeling won't ever go away

and yeah, I was expelled because I was a bad kid

but I am a good student


I got a C in english.


okay, a C isn't so impressive but hear me out

an unmotivated, unmedicated, angry year 10

who missed every third lesson because

he was hiding from the gunshots he could hear over his literature teacher

crawling out of the classroom on his knees desperately trying to stay safe

curled up on the floor, crying

I thought I had died
or was going to die

I tried to **** myself a couple of days after

and nothing seemed worth it

but I sat down in the canteen

desks arranged perfectly like they hadn't been flipped over and over in fear of the looming threat of failure every ******* day

and I was shaking while I held that pen

and I wrote my stained soul and heavy heart and dried blood onto that test paper

and I got a C.

that C proves I still have worth-
even after all my academic failures.
and now?

I'm medicated, motivated,
dedicated

give me a chance to prove it

I'll be the best risk you'll ever take.

You see it is hard when you
do something wrong and suddenly nobody wants you to help people nobody wants you to be nice to people either
You see lately on home and away John wanted to help the burns unit after he started the recent bush fires and I grabbed a kid and I teased a little girl and I arranged a disco where nobody turned up well a few people were there but for me
It was hard and I started getting crazy and I really wanted to reform myself well I wasn't really reformed but I felt everyone was out to get me
Well grabbing a kid and teasing a little girl is bad but really I was unmedicated, or on medication that wasn't right for me
But I started to hear voices of people teasing me every time
I look like a kid
I wanted to be there for the kids but with my past they don't accept me into this community
Like anything I do isn't good enough, I was really upset and I felt so bad but I still wanted to arrange events or be apart of events to help people
I went to do the BBQ for the magpies  and I joined the kanga cup where it only lasted 2 years
Because I wasn't good at it
I was great at the masters games where I was helping get the glass from the ground but I helped in other areas but still the kids were teasing me and my mind was playing tricks on me when I worked at the hockey I felt the world was out to get me, and from that moment I said I want out of this helping life and I stuck with playing Santa Claus where a girl said I was fake and the BBQ was the best place for me but as I got the new kippax oval gig
People started treating me like a piece of meat but I like doing the BBQ at the footy but then I started to lose weight and I was working and I was having fun because people were nice to me and I was running everywhere and joined the Mother's Day classic to raise money for breast cancer
I went to Adelaide twice and I went to the carols in the domain
And I partied at the Merimbula
And then I got a new job and I met them on the road and I went to the psych ward again and I felt awful and then I went to the baseball in Sydney and dad died and I joined the badslamnobiscuit poetry slam
Where I became very popular and I was talking to every university student there it was fun I went to my second theatrical play and all the Coke I drank with that I became fat and I watched YouTube family vlogs and drinking coke and eating chips and chocolate and strawberry milk and popcorn and then I did some thinking and now I am doing three art groups as well as going to holistic health group to try and lose my junk food spare tyre and because of my past home and away lately has been very emotional what with Brodie and John I wasn't on drugs but I was angry and John being hated by the people of summer bay and he wanted to prove himself just like me
The only helping I do is give money to homeless people which I can't all the time but sometimes I can and I give money to beyond blue mental health cause my name is Brian Allan and i have schitzophrenia
Even neighbours catches my emotions with toadie and Sonya
And despite all the times I fought dad I really want to say
I do miss his loving life ways
And I do love life mate

stimulated, unmedicated,
always diving into the void.

also known (to me) as my own brain...
its got its own lane.

made of cobblestone,
maybe some concrete,
sometimes it's nothing but one way streets.

sinning in every direction,
seeing every location,
but I'm always just visiting.

it's been a long journey.
every wrong turn is a discovery.
every right turn,
a fight against misery.

but I'm always just visiting.
always left wondering.
I'm looming with inconsistency.
loving me isn't easy.
nothing like sunday morning.

I make a habit of frequenting the bar across the parking lot
in hopes of casually bumping into you

I rehearse in my head the way I'll avoid striking up conversation
leave my number tucked between bills in the host book on the table
stroll out the door, I promise myself I will not look back

My therapist says my unmedicated mania is dangerous
because I turn into disaster, the way I'm longing for your smile

Today's my birthday and I'm finally old enough to sit quietly alone with a glass of bourbon, the way my father does
I scratch my fingertips raw on the table longing for the clicking of graphite nails
But I cut them to the quick when I spent two days worrying about what you might think if you saw my hands

I thought i floated in peace
Then came the realisation, one word and my thoughts were ripped to pieces
One wrong word was all it took
For me to crumble with my thoughts
Of Loved Ones lost, young and old
The scars permanently etched on my Heart.

Mental Health is a killer
It knows no boundaries
Nor does it distinguish with persons who suffer
It silently takes over your mind
Leaves you scrambling, searching, struggling to find
Peace.

Self medication does not help
It only serves to mask the pain
Unmedicated and alone
Frightened and scared
Alcohol becomes your friend
A friendship that stays with you until the bitter end

No one comes to assist you
You end up lifeless on the floor
The Golden, Vibrant Young Lad we all knew, sadly is no more

We miss you dearly Shane
Your memory is with us every day
Today is Jasons' birthday, we will raise a glass of cheer.
To you too my darling, even though you are no longer here.

Innocent baby girl
So sweet; so tender
Heart of gold
Body so delicate
Soul so free
Innocent little girl
Talks so softly
Very shy
Very quiet
Very gentle
Behaves and respects mommy and daddy
Troubled teenaged girl
Confused about life
About everything and everyone around her
Getting out of control
Her temper is taking steps
Learning she was able to yell at mom and dad
Eyes learning how to tear
Her soul starts to peel
Her body starts to pull
Her heart turns grey
She realizes she's trapped;
But doesn't know where
Her conscience introduced her to a razor
Troubled woman
Confused with herself
About life and everything else
Everyone included
Totally out of control
Her temper is making her heart race
Yells & screams at the top of her lungs
Mom and dad just don't know what to do
The tears are making her drown
Its like the devil overpowered her innocence
Her soul is ripped
Her body is stripped
Her heart is black;
With the blood pouring out of her skin
Partying
Drinking
Cutting
Unlimited amounts of ***
Now she knows she's trapped inside her body & soul
Denying the fact she was sick
So sick
So crazy
So unmedicated
Pushing family and friends away
Didn't care
Didn't respect
Didn't regret
Her life,
So ruined