"unwell" poems - Hello Poetry

"Well...," she said, unwell. "Well... surely...," she continued, unwell, unsure. "Listen," he said. But nothing. Just some rain tapping a window out of boredom.

0

Nov 25, 2015

Nov 25, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC

bo-burnham

Conversation

"Well...," she said, unwell. "Well... surely...," she continued, unwell, unsure. "Listen," he said. But nothing. Just some rain tapping a window out of boredom.

7

Mommy I'm sorry I manipulate you for, The alcohol I feel I love more, And Daddy I'm sorry I pretend I'm naive, About all of my bad deeds, I tried so hard to stay dry, But the rain it pours inside, I'm drowning in my own self, I'm suffocating with my mental health, And I try, I try so hard, To be who you care for, The girl who laughs just cause she can, Who asks for hugs before bed, But I'm not her anymore, And I'll never be moving forward, But really I'm just someone, Who feels way too much at once, I cry at night when I'm all alone, Dancing with my demons on my own, Please don't hate me, I couldn't survive, I do that enough for myself, and I can no longer hide, That I don't have a problem with substances, That I can recognize when I've had enough of them, I'm so tired of pretending it's under control, This feeling of alcohol that sings in my soul, The cough syrup that makes my shaky thoughts, Become shaky feet, legs, and hands, I'd rather feel physically ill, Than continue to be mentally unwell, So I will continue to veer off the tracks, And spin out of control, it's just a fact, I have no sense of when to stop, Please don't make me stop, It's so hard to be in my own head, Every day it's like a death, I die a bit, a piece of me fades away, And I'm sorry to inform you, to say, I'm not okay, I'm just not alright, With myself I will continue to fight, Please don't hate me, I couldn't survive, I do that enough for myself, and I can no longer hide, That I don't have a problem with substances, That I can recognize when I've had enough of them.

0

Jul 27, 2018

Jul 27, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC

Punkiex3

I'm Just Sorry

Mommy I'm sorry I manipulate you for, The alcohol I feel I love more, And Daddy I'm sorry I pretend I'm naive, About all of my bad deeds, I tried so hard to stay dry, But the rain it pours inside, I'm drowning in my own self, I'm suffocating with my mental health, And I try, I try so hard, To be who you care for, The girl who laughs just cause she can, Who asks for hugs before bed, But I'm not her anymore, And I'll never be moving forward, But really I'm just someone, Who feels way too much at once, I cry at night when I'm all alone, Dancing with my demons on my own, Please don't hate me, I couldn't survive, I do that enough for myself, and I can no longer hide, That I don't have a problem with substances, That I can recognize when I've had enough of them, I'm so tired of pretending it's under control, This feeling of alcohol that sings in my soul, The cough syrup that makes my shaky thoughts, Become shaky feet, legs, and hands, I'd rather feel physically ill, Than continue to be mentally unwell, So I will continue to veer off the tracks, And spin out of control, it's just a fact, I have no sense of when to stop, Please don't make me stop, It's so hard to be in my own head, Every day it's like a death, I die a bit, a piece of me fades away, And I'm sorry to inform you, to say, I'm not okay, I'm just not alright, With myself I will continue to fight, Please don't hate me, I couldn't survive, I do that enough for myself, and I can no longer hide, That I don't have a problem with substances, That I can recognize when I've had enough of them.

42

I am quick to cry and to anger and people think I'm strange. They don't see how hard I try to control it, I know I'm seen as deranged. Emotions can be overbearing and it's difficult to stay quiet when someone upsets me It's simply not easy to hide it. I guessed for a long time that the issue was with me. But I thought I could watch maybe learn their technique. For keeping a cool head when things get heated. Instead of losing it over nothing and feeling totally defeated. I was wrong it turned out. I don't have breaks I have border as in borderline personality disorder. I got a diagnosis and was incredibly afraid that people would treat me like someone who'd contracted the plague. While I wasn't right, I wasn't totally wrong, mental illness is unfortunately still mostly ignored. If I was unwell with a headache, people would ask 'Are you okay?' 'Here I've got Panadol Actifast.' But when the ills In the mind and I say 'I'm feeling down' 9 times out of 10 people get freaked out. So it's tough when you're shamed For having a disorder A lot of normal people suffer So could your son or daughter. So next time you hear someone say 'I'm feeling down.' Do me one favour and please, just don't freak out. It's hard enough already dealing with this day to day without having friends turn their backs and walk away.

0

Nov 17, 2014

Nov 17, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC

e-lynch

BPD

I am quick to cry and to anger and people think I'm strange. They don't see how hard I try to control it, I know I'm seen as deranged. Emotions can be overbearing and it's difficult to stay quiet when someone upsets me It's simply not easy to hide it. I guessed for a long time that the issue was with me. But I thought I could watch maybe learn their technique. For keeping a cool head when things get heated. Instead of losing it over nothing and feeling totally defeated. I was wrong it turned out. I don't have breaks I have border as in borderline personality disorder. I got a diagnosis and was incredibly afraid that people would treat me like someone who'd contracted the plague. While I wasn't right, I wasn't totally wrong, mental illness is unfortunately still mostly ignored. If I was unwell with a headache, people would ask 'Are you okay?' 'Here I've got Panadol Actifast.' But when the ills In the mind and I say 'I'm feeling down' 9 times out of 10 people get freaked out. So it's tough when you're shamed For having a disorder A lot of normal people suffer So could your son or daughter. So next time you hear someone say 'I'm feeling down.' Do me one favour and please, just don't freak out. It's hard enough already dealing with this day to day without having friends turn their backs and walk away.

44

He's her sickness, with him she's unwell She's his drug, without her life's hell He's her nightmare, with him she's frightened She's his sweetest dreams, without her he's burdened He's her despair, with him she's grieved She's his hope, with her he's fulfilled He's her failure She's his success

0

Jun 25, 2014

Jun 25, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC

kwaku-edgar

Complicated

He's her sickness, with him she's unwell She's his drug, without her life's hell He's her nightmare, with him she's frightened She's his sweetest dreams, without her he's burdened He's her despair, with him she's grieved She's his hope, with her he's fulfilled He's her failure She's his success

8

A fashion designer has defended models who were labelled as "gaunt and unwell" on Facebook. Andrea Moore's I AM range is sold at Farmers, and an image from its current campaign was posted on that company's Facebook page on Friday. The picture features Chiara and Norina Gasteiger, who are twins represented by Clyne Model Management. Farmers customers did not react well to the now-deleted post. "They so look gaunt and unwell. I'm really disappointed," Newshub says Anna Webster commented. "You cannot look at these girls with their bones sticking out and believe that they are a good role model for a family store," Jo Austwick wrote. "I have enough trouble with body image arguments with my daughters without these images being depicted. They do not look healthy." Moore said the imagery had never been intended to cause offence, and that she felt for the Gasteiger twins, who have worked with the brand for three years. "The twins are actually healthy, fun models who are busy university students... We love working with them because of their sense of self-worth and uniqueness as twins," she said. "We have been in touch with the models and they were most upset by the whole thing. Fortunately, they have received a lot of support from their peers. "The campaign was about preppy grunge, print with an edge. [It was not] about promoting unhealthy body types [or] anything else," Moore added. Farmers posted the following statement on Facebook after deleting the I AM image: "Dear valued Farmers customers! We appreciate you taking the time to send us your comments and concerns on a recent post for I AM. Please know it is not taken lightly and we in no way mean to promote an image for women in NZ to follow that could be regarded as unhealthy. "We understand that no two bodies are the same and we always seek to show a range of body types throughout all our advertising. These images were supplied by the brand Andrea Moore as part of a wider campaign and were published by us. We will endeavour going forward to work closely with all our partners to ensure an appropriate image is portrayed. "Thank you once again for your valued feedback." Clyne Model Management have been approached for comment.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/one-shoulder-formal-dresses

0

Sep 5, 2016

Sep 5, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC

judy-smith

Designer Andrea Moore defends models called 'gaunt and unwell'

A fashion designer has defended models who were labelled as "gaunt and unwell" on Facebook. Andrea Moore's I AM range is sold at Farmers, and an image from its current campaign was posted on that company's Facebook page on Friday. The picture features Chiara and Norina Gasteiger, who are twins represented by Clyne Model Management. Farmers customers did not react well to the now-deleted post. "They so look gaunt and unwell. I'm really disappointed," Newshub says Anna Webster commented. "You cannot look at these girls with their bones sticking out and believe that they are a good role model for a family store," Jo Austwick wrote. "I have enough trouble with body image arguments with my daughters without these images being depicted. They do not look healthy." Moore said the imagery had never been intended to cause offence, and that she felt for the Gasteiger twins, who have worked with the brand for three years. "The twins are actually healthy, fun models who are busy university students... We love working with them because of their sense of self-worth and uniqueness as twins," she said. "We have been in touch with the models and they were most upset by the whole thing. Fortunately, they have received a lot of support from their peers. "The campaign was about preppy grunge, print with an edge. [It was not] about promoting unhealthy body types [or] anything else," Moore added. Farmers posted the following statement on Facebook after deleting the I AM image: "Dear valued Farmers customers! We appreciate you taking the time to send us your comments and concerns on a recent post for I AM. Please know it is not taken lightly and we in no way mean to promote an image for women in NZ to follow that could be regarded as unhealthy. "We understand that no two bodies are the same and we always seek to show a range of body types throughout all our advertising. These images were supplied by the brand Andrea Moore as part of a wider campaign and were published by us. We will endeavour going forward to work closely with all our partners to ensure an appropriate image is portrayed. "Thank you once again for your valued feedback." Clyne Model Management have been approached for comment.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/one-shoulder-formal-dresses

15

Black Kitten, Ugly Kitten, Unwanted, and unloved, With matted fur, Wide eyes of stone, Once, you were beloved, Black Kitten, Ugly Kitten, Your nose is runny and red, Your paws are too small, Your tail is patchy and wet, You're too thin, but perhaps with a bit of bread.. Black Kitten, Ugly Kitten, You tried to follow me home, My home is too small, Money is tight and hard earned, My heart is unwell, but I cannot simply let you roam.. Black Kitten, Ugly Kitten, You didn't care, I was the curious thing, The one to stop, And scratch behind your ears, your life has never been fair.. Black Kitten, Ugly Kitten, Your walk is much too slow, Fumbling one way or the other, Tripping over your paws, Getting distracted by the spiders, but soon, you'll grow.. Black Kitten, Ugly Kitten, I stopped, And carried you home.

0

Mar 15, 2015

Mar 15, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC

madness-viarti

Black Kitten - Ugly Kitten

Black Kitten, Ugly Kitten, Unwanted, and unloved, With matted fur, Wide eyes of stone, Once, you were beloved, Black Kitten, Ugly Kitten, Your nose is runny and red, Your paws are too small, Your tail is patchy and wet, You're too thin, but perhaps with a bit of bread.. Black Kitten, Ugly Kitten, You tried to follow me home, My home is too small, Money is tight and hard earned, My heart is unwell, but I cannot simply let you roam.. Black Kitten, Ugly Kitten, You didn't care, I was the curious thing, The one to stop, And scratch behind your ears, your life has never been fair.. Black Kitten, Ugly Kitten, Your walk is much too slow, Fumbling one way or the other, Tripping over your paws, Getting distracted by the spiders, but soon, you'll grow.. Black Kitten, Ugly Kitten, I stopped, And carried you home.

34

Your shrill, yet oddly pleasant sound, echoes loudly down the long corridor. I try to ignore you as the jaunty sound clashes with my melancholy mood, Yet I find the notes and melodies cling to my mind like tissue stuck to a shoe, Hanging on for it's own amusement, Ignorant of my desire not to be teased nor humoured at this anxious time. I feel I shouldn't like your racket, My naïve ears and young years sense, not only an inappropriate comedy in your sound, But also a daunting undertone, Adding to my sense of having been plunged into deep icy waters. Perhaps your music soothes those who are leaving, Your high happy notes providing optimism and assurance of recovery, Or of a restful sleep enveloping dear ones. For me, however, at the point of no-return in my pilgrimage, I hear only the low notes, Out of time with my quickened pulse, And lending a foreboding soundtrack to my slow deliberate steps. But you play for no pay, Busking in this hospital, Doing good both night and day. Yes, you are well known in this place, Admired for the hours you commit to this space where lives can hang in the balance, And where your instrument by day is a sharp sleek scalpel, Invasive in its desire to alleviate suffering, Your steady, practiced hand rehearsed and well versed in the methodically planned procedure of a surgical concerto. But out of hours your instrument of choice lends you a voice, Allowing flourishes and improvisations. But were you aware that for visitors like me who visited repeatedly, The clarinet would take on a significance beyond other instruments, Taking me instantly back to bittersweet memories of visiting my family, As, in turn, they aged and became unwell and recovered and became unwell again. Now I am older and a little wiser, I reflect and ruminate on this period; My memories of family are more than just hospital visits, And I wonder if I could ask one thing of you? Why no Rhapsody in Blue?!

0

Sep 16, 2018

Sep 16, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC

eryri

The Medical Clarinettist

Your shrill, yet oddly pleasant sound, echoes loudly down the long corridor. I try to ignore you as the jaunty sound clashes with my melancholy mood, Yet I find the notes and melodies cling to my mind like tissue stuck to a shoe, Hanging on for it's own amusement, Ignorant of my desire not to be teased nor humoured at this anxious time. I feel I shouldn't like your racket, My naïve ears and young years sense, not only an inappropriate comedy in your sound, But also a daunting undertone, Adding to my sense of having been plunged into deep icy waters. Perhaps your music soothes those who are leaving, Your high happy notes providing optimism and assurance of recovery, Or of a restful sleep enveloping dear ones. For me, however, at the point of no-return in my pilgrimage, I hear only the low notes, Out of time with my quickened pulse, And lending a foreboding soundtrack to my slow deliberate steps. But you play for no pay, Busking in this hospital, Doing good both night and day. Yes, you are well known in this place, Admired for the hours you commit to this space where lives can hang in the balance, And where your instrument by day is a sharp sleek scalpel, Invasive in its desire to alleviate suffering, Your steady, practiced hand rehearsed and well versed in the methodically planned procedure of a surgical concerto. But out of hours your instrument of choice lends you a voice, Allowing flourishes and improvisations. But were you aware that for visitors like me who visited repeatedly, The clarinet would take on a significance beyond other instruments, Taking me instantly back to bittersweet memories of visiting my family, As, in turn, they aged and became unwell and recovered and became unwell again. Now I am older and a little wiser, I reflect and ruminate on this period; My memories of family are more than just hospital visits, And I wonder if I could ask one thing of you? Why no Rhapsody in Blue?!

35

Exclusion or ... " Inclusion " ... Which Option Do You Choose ... ??? Do You Feel Like ... " Your Inclusion " ... Is The Passage To Be ... " Cool " ... ?!? Even If The Crew You Follow ... Is FULL of ... STUPID FOOLS ... !!!!! FOOLS Who Use ... Their Snakeskin Shoes ... To Make Those CRUCIAL ... ... " Power Moves " ... !!!!!!!!!! If That's You ... ??? Is That ... " YOU " ... ?!? Are You ... REALLY ... Being ...... " True " ...... !?! Or ... Living Life ... In A ... " Human Zoo " ... By This I Mean ... Your Self-Esteem ... Has CLEARLY LOST ... It's ..... " Mr. Sheen " ...... !!! You're In A Zone ... Now FILLED WITH CLONES ... Whose Facade ... Is TOUGH ... When ..... NOT Alone ..... They Change Their Ring ... WITHOUT ... Dialling Tones ... !!! Because They Have .... Such ... " Brittle Bones " ... !!! They Claim To Have ... A ... " HAPPY Home " ... !!!!! But FEAR The Thought ... of Life .... ALONE .... They Surround Themselves ... With SUPERFICIAL Friends ... Throughout Their Week ... And At .... " Weekends " .... So ..... ??? Which Do YOU Prefer ... ?!? Exclusion or ... Inclusion ... ??? A Life Without Confusion ... A Life Without The Nonsense ... of ... " Agenda-Lead Collusion " ... !!! Do You Need Doors Open ... ? Or ... Do You ... ? ... Open Them ... YOURSELF ... !?!?! Do You Want To Make A DIFFERENCE ... Or ... Get Yourself SOME WEALTH ... ?!? I Try To Keep ... My ... Mental Health ... By .................... AVOIDING THOSE ...... Who Have ..... " Foul Smells " ..... !!!!!!!!! I Trust In ... " God " ... And TRUST ... MYSELF ... To Do What's RIGHT ... !!! Or ... BURN IN HELL ... !!! I BELIEVE In This ... !!! YES ... Love Thyself ... !!! Love Those Who ... Do Love Themselves ... !!! WITHOUT .... VANITY .... !!! Or The .... " HARD SELL " .... !!!!! These People Make ... Our World UNWELL ... !!!!! Look In Their Eyes ... They're TELLING LIES ... !!!!! To Be .... " Accepted " .... By ..... FAKE GUYS ..... ?!?!? Who Just Can't Take ... ..... My Diatribe ..... !!!!!!! This View IS MINE ... !!! It's NOT .... " Divine " .... Don't Feel Inclined ... To ..... FALL IN LINE ... !!!!! Exclusion ISN'T ... .... My Design .... !!! It's Been ... " Designed " ... By ..... " Simple Minds " ... Who NEED Inclusion ... .... ALL THE TIME .... !!!!! Why Do They NEED IT ... ?!? They Can KEEP IT ... !!!!!!!! I'm An ... EXCEPTION With Insight ......... !!! EXCLUDE ME If ... You Feel That's Right ... !!! At The End of The Day ..... We're ALL GONNA DIE ... !!!!!! Those Who ... " Exclude " ... Will Probably FRY .... !?! Finding INCLUSION .... Where ... LUCIFER LIES ... !!!!! That's NO SURPRISE .... !!!!! .... " Facades and Lies " .... Are Them DEFINED .... !!!!!! But ... CAN'T DiSguIsE ... Their Fraudulent Guise ... !!!! It CAN'T Be Wise ... To ... Always Hide ... YOUR True Self ....... Why Be So Sly ... ?!? That's A Question ... I DON'T Face ... !!! Because I'm ... ME ... WHEREVER I Be ... !!!!! I DON'T NEED ..... !!! These PHONEY CLIQUES ... !!!!! What About YOU ... ?!? Are You ... TRUE ... ?!?!? Or ... Do You NEED ... ? These POMPOUS CREWS ... !?! That's Up To ... YOU ... What Do You Choose ... ? " Exclusion Or ... Inclusion "

0

May 11, 2017

May 11, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC

big-virge

"Exclusion or Inclusion ???" ... A Poem written by Big Virge 10/5/2005

Exclusion or ... " Inclusion " ... Which Option Do You Choose ... ??? Do You Feel Like ... " Your Inclusion " ... Is The Passage To Be ... " Cool " ... ?!? Even If The Crew You Follow ... Is FULL of ... STUPID FOOLS ... !!!!! FOOLS Who Use ... Their Snakeskin Shoes ... To Make Those CRUCIAL ... ... " Power Moves " ... !!!!!!!!!! If That's You ... ??? Is That ... " YOU " ... ?!? Are You ... REALLY ... Being ...... " True " ...... !?! Or ... Living Life ... In A ... " Human Zoo " ... By This I Mean ... Your Self-Esteem ... Has CLEARLY LOST ... It's ..... " Mr. Sheen " ...... !!! You're In A Zone ... Now FILLED WITH CLONES ... Whose Facade ... Is TOUGH ... When ..... NOT Alone ..... They Change Their Ring ... WITHOUT ... Dialling Tones ... !!! Because They Have .... Such ... " Brittle Bones " ... !!! They Claim To Have ... A ... " HAPPY Home " ... !!!!! But FEAR The Thought ... of Life .... ALONE .... They Surround Themselves ... With SUPERFICIAL Friends ... Throughout Their Week ... And At .... " Weekends " .... So ..... ??? Which Do YOU Prefer ... ?!? Exclusion or ... Inclusion ... ??? A Life Without Confusion ... A Life Without The Nonsense ... of ... " Agenda-Lead Collusion " ... !!! Do You Need Doors Open ... ? Or ... Do You ... ? ... Open Them ... YOURSELF ... !?!?! Do You Want To Make A DIFFERENCE ... Or ... Get Yourself SOME WEALTH ... ?!? I Try To Keep ... My ... Mental Health ... By .................... AVOIDING THOSE ...... Who Have ..... " Foul Smells " ..... !!!!!!!!! I Trust In ... " God " ... And TRUST ... MYSELF ... To Do What's RIGHT ... !!! Or ... BURN IN HELL ... !!! I BELIEVE In This ... !!! YES ... Love Thyself ... !!! Love Those Who ... Do Love Themselves ... !!! WITHOUT .... VANITY .... !!! Or The .... " HARD SELL " .... !!!!! These People Make ... Our World UNWELL ... !!!!! Look In Their Eyes ... They're TELLING LIES ... !!!!! To Be .... " Accepted " .... By ..... FAKE GUYS ..... ?!?!? Who Just Can't Take ... ..... My Diatribe ..... !!!!!!! This View IS MINE ... !!! It's NOT .... " Divine " .... Don't Feel Inclined ... To ..... FALL IN LINE ... !!!!! Exclusion ISN'T ... .... My Design .... !!! It's Been ... " Designed " ... By ..... " Simple Minds " ... Who NEED Inclusion ... .... ALL THE TIME .... !!!!! Why Do They NEED IT ... ?!? They Can KEEP IT ... !!!!!!!! I'm An ... EXCEPTION With Insight ......... !!! EXCLUDE ME If ... You Feel That's Right ... !!! At The End of The Day ..... We're ALL GONNA DIE ... !!!!!! Those Who ... " Exclude " ... Will Probably FRY .... !?! Finding INCLUSION .... Where ... LUCIFER LIES ... !!!!! That's NO SURPRISE .... !!!!! .... " Facades and Lies " .... Are Them DEFINED .... !!!!!! But ... CAN'T DiSguIsE ... Their Fraudulent Guise ... !!!! It CAN'T Be Wise ... To ... Always Hide ... YOUR True Self ....... Why Be So Sly ... ?!? That's A Question ... I DON'T Face ... !!! Because I'm ... ME ... WHEREVER I Be ... !!!!! I DON'T NEED ..... !!! These PHONEY CLIQUES ... !!!!! What About YOU ... ?!? Are You ... TRUE ... ?!?!? Or ... Do You NEED ... ? These POMPOUS CREWS ... !?! That's Up To ... YOU ... What Do You Choose ... ? " Exclusion Or ... Inclusion "

164

Pills, pills for the mentally ill The more you take, the worse you'll feel So down the hatch Yep down your throat Very soon you'll be wearing this coat A hug me jacket tarnished in white With buckles and straps wound so tight But for now some side effects I wrote Down here on this pretty little note Increased thoughts of suicide And harsh voices to which you can't hide Nausea, drooling, and anxiety too And whoever seems to be "after you" We'll put you to sleep You won't make another peep Strap you to a cozy bed where you'll slumber Pump you till you're as cool as a cucumber To which we'll add you to our lovely garden No ifs, buts, or beg your pardons What's the matter? You seem unwell You're as mad as a hatter This I can tell So don't start a spell Don't start a clatter We'll pick up those pieces to which your mind has shattered Just take this pill In fact why not stay You're better off here anyway!

0

Apr 30, 2014

Apr 30, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC

Seriouslyhilarious

Pills!

Pills, pills for the mentally ill The more you take, the worse you'll feel So down the hatch Yep down your throat Very soon you'll be wearing this coat A hug me jacket tarnished in white With buckles and straps wound so tight But for now some side effects I wrote Down here on this pretty little note Increased thoughts of suicide And harsh voices to which you can't hide Nausea, drooling, and anxiety too And whoever seems to be "after you" We'll put you to sleep You won't make another peep Strap you to a cozy bed where you'll slumber Pump you till you're as cool as a cucumber To which we'll add you to our lovely garden No ifs, buts, or beg your pardons What's the matter? You seem unwell You're as mad as a hatter This I can tell So don't start a spell Don't start a clatter We'll pick up those pieces to which your mind has shattered Just take this pill In fact why not stay You're better off here anyway!

29

The malignant light blinds me into a drunken haze, intoxicating my toes until my body begins to dance, thoughtlessly Eyes closed, arms open, godly, peaceful, strong Why doesn't everyone raise their arms to the grateful sky and soak in the golden bath of golden sun, to feel for once in their lives golden Why do I seem alone in my gentle ****** curve while they seem bland and gray, straight lined lips across their face, a line of soldiers, unforgiving and unbreakable. Why do I only feel joy? Thoughts shoot through me like tommy gun bullets through the streets of old Chicago, covered in hot blood, hot money, and hot nights. Drugs in my veins, matches in my pockets, all eyes on me and my mafia heart raising a pistol to my brain and conquering its control. Baby I like it, the way I move through the floor, seeing the monsters that weren’t there before, descending into maniacal darkness unknown, smiling while I’m screaming, never alone Sunshine, you are mine, my arms coddle you close, the sunshine endlessly streaming through my fingertips, a buzzing crescendo of ecstasy. You are all mine. This perfect heart contained in the cavity of this body overbeats, skipping steps, tumbling forward, 800 miles per hour, too fast to be caught by the blue-sheilded men who wish to stop it. Stop this heart and stop the world, for it is its red hot core. Pompous, conceited, it paints itself across my soul, yet I cannot contain what my emotions do, a little twisted, a little crazy, a little unwell. And then I crash again.

0

Jun 2, 2013

Jun 2, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC

grace-7

Mafia Heart

The malignant light blinds me into a drunken haze, intoxicating my toes until my body begins to dance, thoughtlessly Eyes closed, arms open, godly, peaceful, strong Why doesn't everyone raise their arms to the grateful sky and soak in the golden bath of golden sun, to feel for once in their lives golden Why do I seem alone in my gentle ****** curve while they seem bland and gray, straight lined lips across their face, a line of soldiers, unforgiving and unbreakable. Why do I only feel joy? Thoughts shoot through me like tommy gun bullets through the streets of old Chicago, covered in hot blood, hot money, and hot nights. Drugs in my veins, matches in my pockets, all eyes on me and my mafia heart raising a pistol to my brain and conquering its control. Baby I like it, the way I move through the floor, seeing the monsters that weren’t there before, descending into maniacal darkness unknown, smiling while I’m screaming, never alone Sunshine, you are mine, my arms coddle you close, the sunshine endlessly streaming through my fingertips, a buzzing crescendo of ecstasy. You are all mine. This perfect heart contained in the cavity of this body overbeats, skipping steps, tumbling forward, 800 miles per hour, too fast to be caught by the blue-sheilded men who wish to stop it. Stop this heart and stop the world, for it is its red hot core. Pompous, conceited, it paints itself across my soul, yet I cannot contain what my emotions do, a little twisted, a little crazy, a little unwell. And then I crash again.

10

I left you believing I had things to do I told you I was unwell I told you my family and I were going away for the weekend All the while I was with him I told you I wasn't happy in our relationship I told you all I ask for is everything he gives me I told you I wanted you to be someone you just aren't I wanted you to be him I told you I would stay because you tried a little I believed you when you said you wanted to help I believed you when you said you could be what I deserve All I ask for is a little A little Time Hand holding Soft caresses Cuddles And compliments We've grown apart, our relationship stunted It's not my fault It's not yours But it is my fault I cheated Because what I truly wanted Was him

0

Mar 9, 2015

Mar 9, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC

lachrymose-and-lies

I Cheated

I left you believing I had things to do I told you I was unwell I told you my family and I were going away for the weekend All the while I was with him I told you I wasn't happy in our relationship I told you all I ask for is everything he gives me I told you I wanted you to be someone you just aren't I wanted you to be him I told you I would stay because you tried a little I believed you when you said you wanted to help I believed you when you said you could be what I deserve All I ask for is a little A little Time Hand holding Soft caresses Cuddles And compliments We've grown apart, our relationship stunted It's not my fault It's not yours But it is my fault I cheated Because what I truly wanted Was him

24

In a locked up abandoned room, stands dead people, all worn and torn, all helpless and scarcely unknown. They weep trickles of tears from their eyes, soaking down to their cheeks, innocent faces and scarred bodies, invisible to the world and their minds dreadfully drilled, with thoughts of insanity, as they rot inhumanely. Open wounds and jars of acid, the key lays in one of them, torturous and hardly discredited It's deadly, and extremely rapid. Trapped and held back, suppressed and feelings of soul lack, where the crows die at 3:00am, it's satanic, dark, dull and dim. Hands burn and screams cry, the jar is black, so they hadn't know in which the key lie. The secrets within, dark, deadly and too hard to ****** swim. Weak and demolished, some people collapse in pain and satanic craze, the haze, the daze, thoust peculiar trickles of red rain drops from the ceiling above, rose wine red, depth is dark and foul like jin It's ****** up... Our ghosts keep all kinds of secrets, with their hands behind their back and face hidden and covered in black, suppression creates a place of torturous days and weeping eyes of display... Isolation makes it worse, it creates a lonesome curse... Treat your ghost well, then the dark won't take over, and make it dreaded and unwell... Tell... All your secrets within

0

Aug 5, 2015

Aug 5, 2015 at 3:31 AM UTC

Ravenous

The secrets within

In a locked up abandoned room, stands dead people, all worn and torn, all helpless and scarcely unknown. They weep trickles of tears from their eyes, soaking down to their cheeks, innocent faces and scarred bodies, invisible to the world and their minds dreadfully drilled, with thoughts of insanity, as they rot inhumanely. Open wounds and jars of acid, the key lays in one of them, torturous and hardly discredited It's deadly, and extremely rapid. Trapped and held back, suppressed and feelings of soul lack, where the crows die at 3:00am, it's satanic, dark, dull and dim. Hands burn and screams cry, the jar is black, so they hadn't know in which the key lie. The secrets within, dark, deadly and too hard to ****** swim. Weak and demolished, some people collapse in pain and satanic craze, the haze, the daze, thoust peculiar trickles of red rain drops from the ceiling above, rose wine red, depth is dark and foul like jin It's ****** up... Our ghosts keep all kinds of secrets, with their hands behind their back and face hidden and covered in black, suppression creates a place of torturous days and weeping eyes of display... Isolation makes it worse, it creates a lonesome curse... Treat your ghost well, then the dark won't take over, and make it dreaded and unwell... Tell... All your secrets within

18

I have not been well lately But I have a secret to tell you It’s a success story: my most secret success You see, I’m very skilled in crafting holes And I’ve punched a massive hole Right through the middle of my life Please, don’t mistake this accomplishment for the result of talent This is a skill and it takes practice to master I went to college and learned to turn theories and ideals from basin to sieve I learned to critique everything hopeful And punched a hole right through the heart of hope I honed my ability to close out creativity I built a track down which to guide concrete linear thoughts And I learned to use said thoughts as a battering ram with which to Knock a hole in the barricaded door to dissatisfaction And, though this skill is often practical As you know, one cannot walk around wearing an open hole So, a corresponding skill has successfully emerged In parallel with nurturing voids I have learned to conceal each and every hole Sometimes with a thick canvass and Sometimes with a paper-thin veneer I may have learned to wrap a package And to tie a bow With the express purpose of packaging The broken gift of life Full of ugly holes And, now, all that is left to complete the perfect ending to this success story Is to grow old in a neatly kept apartment Filled with the unseen haunts of relationships neatly hole-punched and Filed in a hidden mental cabinet Next to a night stand where I keep my phone and glasses And across from the bed There will be a glass trophy case Full of trophies denoting various acceptable successes But, just between you and I The largest trophy denoting the largest success Will be a lifetime achievement award Bestowed for hollowing out what could have been A beautiful life.

0

Feb 21, 2013

Feb 21, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC

devin-weaver

Unwell

I have not been well lately But I have a secret to tell you It’s a success story: my most secret success You see, I’m very skilled in crafting holes And I’ve punched a massive hole Right through the middle of my life Please, don’t mistake this accomplishment for the result of talent This is a skill and it takes practice to master I went to college and learned to turn theories and ideals from basin to sieve I learned to critique everything hopeful And punched a hole right through the heart of hope I honed my ability to close out creativity I built a track down which to guide concrete linear thoughts And I learned to use said thoughts as a battering ram with which to Knock a hole in the barricaded door to dissatisfaction And, though this skill is often practical As you know, one cannot walk around wearing an open hole So, a corresponding skill has successfully emerged In parallel with nurturing voids I have learned to conceal each and every hole Sometimes with a thick canvass and Sometimes with a paper-thin veneer I may have learned to wrap a package And to tie a bow With the express purpose of packaging The broken gift of life Full of ugly holes And, now, all that is left to complete the perfect ending to this success story Is to grow old in a neatly kept apartment Filled with the unseen haunts of relationships neatly hole-punched and Filed in a hidden mental cabinet Next to a night stand where I keep my phone and glasses And across from the bed There will be a glass trophy case Full of trophies denoting various acceptable successes But, just between you and I The largest trophy denoting the largest success Will be a lifetime achievement award Bestowed for hollowing out what could have been A beautiful life.

40

Although I missed you, I didn't miss the yells And all the times you made me feel unwell; Whether it was physical or emotional, Your love was harsh and you made it seem personal. Your huge hands to hold me, you used to hurt me. Your warm smile you used to spit fire. Those hazel eyes were made to captivate me, And they did just that, in a prison cell was where I resided, forcefully. Your loud, beautiful laugh was used mockingly, And the way your words flowed showed me who I was, accidentally. Your big, warm heart was charred- it beat quietly, and you passed on the black smoke, unintentionally. It filled up my mind, my lungs, And with every breath I took I became even more numb. Maybe this is why I look for you in every man, It's all I've ever known. And although it wasn't the most ideal plan, Black was the only color I was ever shown.

0

Jun 4, 2014

Jun 4, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC

xilan

Black Smoke

Although I missed you, I didn't miss the yells And all the times you made me feel unwell; Whether it was physical or emotional, Your love was harsh and you made it seem personal. Your huge hands to hold me, you used to hurt me. Your warm smile you used to spit fire. Those hazel eyes were made to captivate me, And they did just that, in a prison cell was where I resided, forcefully. Your loud, beautiful laugh was used mockingly, And the way your words flowed showed me who I was, accidentally. Your big, warm heart was charred- it beat quietly, and you passed on the black smoke, unintentionally. It filled up my mind, my lungs, And with every breath I took I became even more numb. Maybe this is why I look for you in every man, It's all I've ever known. And although it wasn't the most ideal plan, Black was the only color I was ever shown.

18

I fashioned myself a dress of black lace; Dark and elegant, epitome of grace; Soft on my skin, caress like a lover's, My comfort, my design, a haven of covers. They called it macabre - filled them with unease; Dangerous, they said, termed it a disease. And yes, I'm unwell, but darkness is my veil - A reprieve from hell, solace without fail. I am the tailor, the sculptor of shadows, The reaper of melancholy my art sows. And yes, it is odd, fragile, morose - The marble thorns of an obsidian rose. The judging whispers that follow in my wake, Can't comprehend I do this for my sake: The sharp edges they call jarring and cold - They are my palace, impenetrable stronghold. Where others see emptiness, I notice lace, The gossamer threads of a misty embrace; They are but blind to the kingdom of nothing, Only see moats, and wall canons jutting. My castle of ghosts, the court I control, Those remain hidden, deep in my soul. The siren song, my foggy lullaby, The velvety clouds on which my thoughts lie. It is morphium, made in my mind Embroidered dullness only I can find. The words bounce off my protective bubble, Your bombs shatter into a gray rubble. I blow it away, along with my fears, I got good at this, during the years. Give me some credit, I am no fool, Where others would drown, I can rule; I know not to freeze, when water's too cool, The fire you'd burn in, I use as fuel. Yes, it's a thin line, I know it best, But I'm a trapeze-artist, can pass the test; A veteran of trade, the air is my nest, I've learned to live without getting rest. And I know my limits, how far I can press, Worry you not, I've survived on much less. I'm not glass, disperse your concerns, If need be, the lace to razor wire turns.

0

Sep 20, 2020

Sep 20, 2020 at 6:16 AM UTC

Haley67

Black Lace

I fashioned myself a dress of black lace; Dark and elegant, epitome of grace; Soft on my skin, caress like a lover's, My comfort, my design, a haven of covers. They called it macabre - filled them with unease; Dangerous, they said, termed it a disease. And yes, I'm unwell, but darkness is my veil - A reprieve from hell, solace without fail. I am the tailor, the sculptor of shadows, The reaper of melancholy my art sows. And yes, it is odd, fragile, morose - The marble thorns of an obsidian rose. The judging whispers that follow in my wake, Can't comprehend I do this for my sake: The sharp edges they call jarring and cold - They are my palace, impenetrable stronghold. Where others see emptiness, I notice lace, The gossamer threads of a misty embrace; They are but blind to the kingdom of nothing, Only see moats, and wall canons jutting. My castle of ghosts, the court I control, Those remain hidden, deep in my soul. The siren song, my foggy lullaby, The velvety clouds on which my thoughts lie. It is morphium, made in my mind Embroidered dullness only I can find. The words bounce off my protective bubble, Your bombs shatter into a gray rubble. I blow it away, along with my fears, I got good at this, during the years. Give me some credit, I am no fool, Where others would drown, I can rule; I know not to freeze, when water's too cool, The fire you'd burn in, I use as fuel. Yes, it's a thin line, I know it best, But I'm a trapeze-artist, can pass the test; A veteran of trade, the air is my nest, I've learned to live without getting rest. And I know my limits, how far I can press, Worry you not, I've survived on much less. I'm not glass, disperse your concerns, If need be, the lace to razor wire turns.

42

Everything, is fine, it is. Fine, If I have that again, it will, make me sick It will always get stuck in my throat, I would choke. Sick, that I don't need, Don't eat. leave it out? Totally. Someone might see, know, help, me? Getting worse. Help myself. Normality, keeping things usual. Work. Pull myself together? get over it, don't be silly: That's not helpful, don’t say anything. What's happening? I've never passed out before. You in my head will you explain What to do, yes you; I'm losing, help me? see things I'm missing. Ignore. Remember being sick ? I don't want that, leave, I Need food to keep the same. Not. Change. Food others have makes me feel unwell. Don't eat. I. Tremble, consider, stare, UNABLE TO EAT MEALS, Eat: with everyone, sit, quiet, be slow, as much as possible, I will leave. At least I tried. To observing eyes. I did well? Touch leave, take leave tremble, later, maybe. No. Don't want to, yet: need to think, what I'm going to have? where I'm going to eat? you can tell me, yes, no.? Safe food list, alters, becomes not safe. It has changed, different cold. Leave it. If it's not the same, colour, shape, smell, not safe, Wait. It's on the list. Avoid it, the date is old, milkshake best. In therapy, I speak, I listen, you unravel. Best? help me? keep to timetable? Its achievable. What has really happened.? Avoid? Try? Listen. Try, try Is it fine?, me trying, still worried, concerned. Not what you thought (ARFID) Michael C Crowder September 2018

0

Jan 5, 2019

Jan 5, 2019 at 11:14 AM UTC

michael-c-crowder

Not what you thought

Everything, is fine, it is. Fine, If I have that again, it will, make me sick It will always get stuck in my throat, I would choke. Sick, that I don't need, Don't eat. leave it out? Totally. Someone might see, know, help, me? Getting worse. Help myself. Normality, keeping things usual. Work. Pull myself together? get over it, don't be silly: That's not helpful, don’t say anything. What's happening? I've never passed out before. You in my head will you explain What to do, yes you; I'm losing, help me? see things I'm missing. Ignore. Remember being sick ? I don't want that, leave, I Need food to keep the same. Not. Change. Food others have makes me feel unwell. Don't eat. I. Tremble, consider, stare, UNABLE TO EAT MEALS, Eat: with everyone, sit, quiet, be slow, as much as possible, I will leave. At least I tried. To observing eyes. I did well? Touch leave, take leave tremble, later, maybe. No. Don't want to, yet: need to think, what I'm going to have? where I'm going to eat? you can tell me, yes, no.? Safe food list, alters, becomes not safe. It has changed, different cold. Leave it. If it's not the same, colour, shape, smell, not safe, Wait. It's on the list. Avoid it, the date is old, milkshake best. In therapy, I speak, I listen, you unravel. Best? help me? keep to timetable? Its achievable. What has really happened.? Avoid? Try? Listen. Try, try Is it fine?, me trying, still worried, concerned. Not what you thought (ARFID) Michael C Crowder September 2018

44

fed the birds. fed the birds a book about my dead weight. fed the birds a heavy. fed them from my thin hands. The words that live. The birds ate. The birds ate words that lived and always lived in separate houses. if... and i mean if and only if they could afford it. if these clever pagans ever had a dime. they found it boring rich folk to death. i fed the birds my indigenous nomads. they dined in high style... dined black and fancy on shabby addicts, as they hopped trains . i fed the birds my swarthy tribe. and they supped. i fed the birds a monologue with trains of thought the words i fed them... the vagabonds... hopped trains. of thought. I fed the birds. i fed the birds just outside. i sat and fed them black light and Harmalade fed them blackly fed them with piano keys; the black ones, the ones that radiate i fed i watched them. watched them fancy peck. and peck and fancy pluck. i watched. they dined on serene defeat by technicality. it was surreal to watch a blackbird pluck from black keys - peck a morsel of glum from the black rays, yes. the black rays with opposable thumbs and a lifeline. the only one i know forbidding gypsies with three eyes. an open palm. a paranoid black radish white dwarf star with piano keys for black rays of nimbus, yes mine is the hand that bites the hand that writes the book it wants to ban, that ain't a fan not at all. just an appendage. a pen dirge ? What ? i fed the flock lots I fed the black ones - with dolls' eyes... tucked under wing. i fed them, yes. a book about the size of any welcome malcontent. i fed them sorrows and ellipses with adjacent lawns. wutherings in stately manors, squatting on either side of memory lane, like a bourbon and coke had practically crawled across shards of hard things to break, with a drink in your hand and crawled, well blended down the hatch of enormous, well appointed gothic frogs, that - were mostly refurbished toads with odd columns. i fed the birds, broke out the Good Chi na hang the tantrums ! yes One should expect a rich metaphor to want to watch you eat it's every word or by extension; lick the toad with 15 rooms, three stories, unfit for children and a full staff of Adjectives, highly trained to short-sheet the Bedlam, and fluff the pillories. one should sip the liqueur off the floor, inside the huge and tipsy gorgon and be thankful for the dank and the solid gold flyswatters. they're complementary. take one as you leave out thinking " toads, eat flies.... so it follows...." apropos of nothing, on the ' Good China ', now in the belly of birds, well fed an unwell. a book about my dead-weight's dream to eat fewer flies and more steak. to grow wings. yes.

0

Oct 17, 2012

Oct 17, 2012 at 11:23 AM UTC

third-eye-candy

DODO

fed the birds. fed the birds a book about my dead weight. fed the birds a heavy. fed them from my thin hands. The words that live. The birds ate. The birds ate words that lived and always lived in separate houses. if... and i mean if and only if they could afford it. if these clever pagans ever had a dime. they found it boring rich folk to death. i fed the birds my indigenous nomads. they dined in high style... dined black and fancy on shabby addicts, as they hopped trains . i fed the birds my swarthy tribe. and they supped. i fed the birds a monologue with trains of thought the words i fed them... the vagabonds... hopped trains. of thought. I fed the birds. i fed the birds just outside. i sat and fed them black light and Harmalade fed them blackly fed them with piano keys; the black ones, the ones that radiate i fed i watched them. watched them fancy peck. and peck and fancy pluck. i watched. they dined on serene defeat by technicality. it was surreal to watch a blackbird pluck from black keys - peck a morsel of glum from the black rays, yes. the black rays with opposable thumbs and a lifeline. the only one i know forbidding gypsies with three eyes. an open palm. a paranoid black radish white dwarf star with piano keys for black rays of nimbus, yes mine is the hand that bites the hand that writes the book it wants to ban, that ain't a fan not at all. just an appendage. a pen dirge ? What ? i fed the flock lots I fed the black ones - with dolls' eyes... tucked under wing. i fed them, yes. a book about the size of any welcome malcontent. i fed them sorrows and ellipses with adjacent lawns. wutherings in stately manors, squatting on either side of memory lane, like a bourbon and coke had practically crawled across shards of hard things to break, with a drink in your hand and crawled, well blended down the hatch of enormous, well appointed gothic frogs, that - were mostly refurbished toads with odd columns. i fed the birds, broke out the Good Chi na hang the tantrums ! yes One should expect a rich metaphor to want to watch you eat it's every word or by extension; lick the toad with 15 rooms, three stories, unfit for children and a full staff of Adjectives, highly trained to short-sheet the Bedlam, and fluff the pillories. one should sip the liqueur off the floor, inside the huge and tipsy gorgon and be thankful for the dank and the solid gold flyswatters. they're complementary. take one as you leave out thinking " toads, eat flies.... so it follows...." apropos of nothing, on the ' Good China ', now in the belly of birds, well fed an unwell. a book about my dead-weight's dream to eat fewer flies and more steak. to grow wings. yes.

186

I don't need drugs. My brain is drugs. Maybe it's a side effect of a mother that dropped acid for the first trimester of pregnancy and then some. Maybe it's a side effect of the abusive step father that told me I would never amount to anything and that I am ******** My brain processes things at about a hundred miles per hour. In conversations I am always three steps ahead of what ever was said last. I make connections in things that are unconnected. They tell me this is adult ADHD. They tell me I should be proscribed a pill to help my brain focus. But focus isn't what I want. Nor is the drowsiness that comes with Lorazepam, the fog that goes with Prozac. I have been separately proscribed these things without ever filling the bottles. But I fear that if I fix all my chemical imbalances, my medical maladies, that I will disappear into a fog. Who am I without my OCD, without my brain over processing, over loving, over caring. Without the pain in my chest from another panic, my bouncing off the walls and singing to myself. Maybe I am unwell. But who am I without my unwellness?

0

Jul 17, 2015

Jul 17, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC

MelLittle

Drugs

I don't need drugs. My brain is drugs. Maybe it's a side effect of a mother that dropped acid for the first trimester of pregnancy and then some. Maybe it's a side effect of the abusive step father that told me I would never amount to anything and that I am ******** My brain processes things at about a hundred miles per hour. In conversations I am always three steps ahead of what ever was said last. I make connections in things that are unconnected. They tell me this is adult ADHD. They tell me I should be proscribed a pill to help my brain focus. But focus isn't what I want. Nor is the drowsiness that comes with Lorazepam, the fog that goes with Prozac. I have been separately proscribed these things without ever filling the bottles. But I fear that if I fix all my chemical imbalances, my medical maladies, that I will disappear into a fog. Who am I without my OCD, without my brain over processing, over loving, over caring. Without the pain in my chest from another panic, my bouncing off the walls and singing to myself. Maybe I am unwell. But who am I without my unwellness?

10

There are certain things -a spider, a ghost, The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three - That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most Is a thing they call the SEA. Pour some salt water over the floor - Ugly I'm sure you'll allow it to be: Suppose it extended a mile or more, That's very like the SEA. Beat a dog till it howls outright - Cruel, but all very well for a spree; Suppose that one did so day and night, That would be like the SEA. I had a vision of nursery-maids; Tens of thousands passed by me - All leading children with wooden spades, And this was by the SEA. Who invented those spades of wood? Who was it cut them out of the tree? None, I think, but an idiot could - Or one that loved the SEA. It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float With 'thoughts as boundless, and souls as free'; But suppose you are very unwell in a boat, How do you like the SEA. There is an insect that people avoid (Whence is derived the verb 'to flee') Where have you been by it most annoyed? In lodgings by the SEA. If you like coffee with sand for dregs, A decided hint of salt in your tea, And a fishy taste in the very eggs - By all means choose the SEA. And if, with these dainties to drink and eat, You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree, And a chronic state of wet in your feet, Then -I recommend the SEA. For I have friends who dwell by the coast, Pleasant friends they are to me! It is when I'm with them I wonder most That anyone likes the SEA. They take me a walk: though tired and stiff, To climb the heights I madly agree: And, after a tumble or so from the cliff, They kindly suggest the SEA. I try the rocks, and I think it cool That they laugh with such an excess of glee, As I heavily slip into every pool, That skirts the cold, cold SEA.

0

2.3k

Lewis Carroll

The Sea

There are certain things -a spider, a ghost, The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three - That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most Is a thing they call the SEA. Pour some salt water over the floor - Ugly I'm sure you'll allow it to be: Suppose it extended a mile or more, That's very like the SEA. Beat a dog till it howls outright - Cruel, but all very well for a spree; Suppose that one did so day and night, That would be like the SEA. I had a vision of nursery-maids; Tens of thousands passed by me - All leading children with wooden spades, And this was by the SEA. Who invented those spades of wood? Who was it cut them out of the tree? None, I think, but an idiot could - Or one that loved the SEA. It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float With 'thoughts as boundless, and souls as free'; But suppose you are very unwell in a boat, How do you like the SEA. There is an insect that people avoid (Whence is derived the verb 'to flee') Where have you been by it most annoyed? In lodgings by the SEA. If you like coffee with sand for dregs, A decided hint of salt in your tea, And a fishy taste in the very eggs - By all means choose the SEA. And if, with these dainties to drink and eat, You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree, And a chronic state of wet in your feet, Then -I recommend the SEA. For I have friends who dwell by the coast, Pleasant friends they are to me! It is when I'm with them I wonder most That anyone likes the SEA. They take me a walk: though tired and stiff, To climb the heights I madly agree: And, after a tumble or so from the cliff, They kindly suggest the SEA. I try the rocks, and I think it cool That they laugh with such an excess of glee, As I heavily slip into every pool, That skirts the cold, cold SEA.

48

"Sit down boy, you're tired and you must sleep" The voice said to me as I walked the city street Fuzzy steps taken to a bench I saw over yonder Sleepily wandering, the streetlights I ponder Passive disorientation, I'm lost it would seem Consciousness becomes a trickle, as opposed to a stream Dragging myself over shards of glass, paralysed and sleeping A shadow 'neath the moonlight seems to be steadily creeping Isolated in this park in the darkness on a sigma plateau Dextromethorphan hallucinations are a spectacular show I'm indifferent to the stranger, drowsy as he appears Isolated in the nighttime winds, apathetic to his tears Uncoordinated my head falling he takes a seat softly Dissociative disorder makes me seem awfully frosty Speaking of lands where the populace truly is free Speaking unintelligible words, indirectly to me The intrinsic disconnect of this generation scorned As the sun rises in the sky, glittered clouds adorned My head lulls lackadaisically, I'm feeling unwell But my stomach is eased when I think of sweet Maybelle [Hers is a Nabokovian tale of passion in proto-dystopian wastelands The first time we kissed, I held her soft head tenderly in my hands The serenade of rain pitter-patter on the ground, like her feet when she's near and hearing her name is as cathartic as those old jazz records I hold so dear But, oh my pretty Belle, your age is a concern to me (and the eyes of the law) So to forget your sweet face, I pop pills neglectfully, passing out on the floor] Lifting head slowly from the rough ground dampened Four years passed and I'm wondering what happened Fuzzy headed blues, clear my mind with OJ and ****** Walking fast to her house, cannot wait to see her A rap-tap on the door with thoughts of romantic enumerations What she said and what I saw defied every one of my expectations My innocent Belle, with her cheeks rosy red, looks me in the eyes, and wishes I was dead

0

Oct 16, 2013

Oct 16, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC

reece

Peter Sotos' Number One Hit Machine

"Sit down boy, you're tired and you must sleep" The voice said to me as I walked the city street Fuzzy steps taken to a bench I saw over yonder Sleepily wandering, the streetlights I ponder Passive disorientation, I'm lost it would seem Consciousness becomes a trickle, as opposed to a stream Dragging myself over shards of glass, paralysed and sleeping A shadow 'neath the moonlight seems to be steadily creeping Isolated in this park in the darkness on a sigma plateau Dextromethorphan hallucinations are a spectacular show I'm indifferent to the stranger, drowsy as he appears Isolated in the nighttime winds, apathetic to his tears Uncoordinated my head falling he takes a seat softly Dissociative disorder makes me seem awfully frosty Speaking of lands where the populace truly is free Speaking unintelligible words, indirectly to me The intrinsic disconnect of this generation scorned As the sun rises in the sky, glittered clouds adorned My head lulls lackadaisically, I'm feeling unwell But my stomach is eased when I think of sweet Maybelle [Hers is a Nabokovian tale of passion in proto-dystopian wastelands The first time we kissed, I held her soft head tenderly in my hands The serenade of rain pitter-patter on the ground, like her feet when she's near and hearing her name is as cathartic as those old jazz records I hold so dear But, oh my pretty Belle, your age is a concern to me (and the eyes of the law) So to forget your sweet face, I pop pills neglectfully, passing out on the floor] Lifting head slowly from the rough ground dampened Four years passed and I'm wondering what happened Fuzzy headed blues, clear my mind with OJ and ****** Walking fast to her house, cannot wait to see her A rap-tap on the door with thoughts of romantic enumerations What she said and what I saw defied every one of my expectations My innocent Belle, with her cheeks rosy red, looks me in the eyes, and wishes I was dead

34

The man was smart. The animals, watching, knew it. The shattering glass of the universe felt the opposition, and the understanding was the result of a fiendish ambition. There was a recording. It time, there was a healing record; it reached for the few left unwell. They were floundering until it was discovered to be the shape of things drawn with ink. The deception of empty hands, which refused to let them drink the clean water also offered to slay the daughter. This forced them all to worry about forensic relics and lumps of shattered trust. Love was hidden away for the sake of uninterrupted safety.

0

Sep 11, 2013

Sep 11, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC

doctor-baron-joseph-uphoff

Reassembling The Pieces

The man was smart. The animals, watching, knew it. The shattering glass of the universe felt the opposition, and the understanding was the result of a fiendish ambition. There was a recording. It time, there was a healing record; it reached for the few left unwell. They were floundering until it was discovered to be the shape of things drawn with ink. The deception of empty hands, which refused to let them drink the clean water also offered to slay the daughter. This forced them all to worry about forensic relics and lumps of shattered trust. Love was hidden away for the sake of uninterrupted safety.

16

The snowman was feeling very low His thought processes were rather slow. He took a cough His head blew off and landed upside down in the snow!

0

Jan 20, 2015

Jan 20, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC

cheryl-love

An Unwell Snowman

The snowman was feeling very low His thought processes were rather slow. He took a cough His head blew off and landed upside down in the snow!

5

mercy you're rising now tempting the lines of personal decadence uneducated with numbers just feeling and wonders unearthed and exhumed by treacherous admittance four years of commitment composed of sinful self sacrifice caused us unrest left us unchanged corrupted and pleading for lampshades and cradles nesting in suffered sheets why are you alone? beginnings break free when you battle the best part mercy you're alive yet unwell in your dreams for fair weather

0

Dec 11, 2009

Dec 11, 2009 at 8:26 PM UTC

erin-haggerty

wounded veil

mercy you're rising now tempting the lines of personal decadence uneducated with numbers just feeling and wonders unearthed and exhumed by treacherous admittance four years of commitment composed of sinful self sacrifice caused us unrest left us unchanged corrupted and pleading for lampshades and cradles nesting in suffered sheets why are you alone? beginnings break free when you battle the best part mercy you're alive yet unwell in your dreams for fair weather

23

What do we learn when the knowledge is turned to scraps and ashes? When the past is less than prologue cause everyone was encouraged to forget all but the bright moment, pleasures pursued, seconds wasted being used as a consumer, as another tumor so ingrown that it can’t be removed. Rush, play, point, click, sleep, eat, work your life away, and if you are unhappy or to tired to do your job if you feel slightly unwell, well we got a pill to push all that anxiety away from humanity. Until, the still pond no longer reflects the wonder and awe of the artists we once were.

0

Sep 17, 2018

Sep 17, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC

graff1980

Untitled-13.

What do we learn when the knowledge is turned to scraps and ashes? When the past is less than prologue cause everyone was encouraged to forget all but the bright moment, pleasures pursued, seconds wasted being used as a consumer, as another tumor so ingrown that it can’t be removed. Rush, play, point, click, sleep, eat, work your life away, and if you are unhappy or to tired to do your job if you feel slightly unwell, well we got a pill to push all that anxiety away from humanity. Until, the still pond no longer reflects the wonder and awe of the artists we once were.

35