My thoughts ring out like gunshots,
I feel the wounds within,
The warmth inside me bleeds away,
My soul is wearing thin.
I’m standing here in darkness,
Staring straight into the sun.
My heart unable to decide if
I’m ending or just begun.
The choice keeps getting colder.
Do I end here or begin?
Because before I get much older,
I might end up giving in.
Didn’t get that far through ‘Joker’,
Before I started to cry.
I wouldn’t make a very good clown,
I couldn’t say why.
Movies I see in myself
Always tend bring me down,
Because people are cruel and unkind
To those with a different mind.
You’d have to look pretty hard to find
One more different than mine
I can’t put a label on it,
Except that I don’t seem to fit
But I still couldn’t tell you why,
A movie of a man who laughs
Is making me cry.
If pressing blades against my skin,
Until they cut right through,
Pushing them still deeper in,
Is how to talk to you..
Start counting cuts.
Try to see what they might say.
You think I don’t have the guts,
To cut myself away.
But listen hard, no, harder, because before too long..
I’ll be gone.
‘I say’, said Alice,
And so she did.
Until such a time,
At another tea party,
In a different rabbit hole,
She heard, reverb, words
She knew were hers.
She recognised well that which she had created,
Now in another place, twisted and restated.
And she screamed with anger.
But her mouth was quite full,
Of delicious cake.
And she choked, and swallowed,
Then, on reflection, took another nibble,
And swallowed again.
‘You’, she said most sternly,
‘Have NO RIGHT!’.
‘No right at all’, she continued,
‘To take words that I have wrought,
And use them as your own retort.’
But no one replied, and
With no thief in sight,
She returned, despondently,
To eating cake and thinking furiously to herself,
In between appreciating the silky sweet icing,
How she might, she might..
‘Someone has stolen my words!
I simply can’t abide the pilferring
Of perfectly presentable poetical practice.
Something must be done!’
And something was.
The familiar cry :
“Off with her head” was heard,
And with it, every poetical line and verb
Alice had created here,
Indeed, once there, had dissapeared.
Oops! Something happened to their page.
‘And that’, thought Alice, ‘is that’.
‘But now I don’t know what to say.
They’ve taken my mouth and my voice away.
They’ve taken my words away!’
‘I can’t say what I wish, I wish!’
‘Words and emotions I need to shout!
Going ’round in my head like a fish,
And THEY CAN’T GET OUT’!’
‘An Alice with no voice of her own,’, smirked the Cheshire Cat, ‘is hardly an Alice at all, now is she? My, my, whatever shall she do?’.
‘I suppose I may as well no longer write, Cat’, said Alice.
‘As I cannot speak the words of how i feel then,
In case someone was to simply steal them.’
‘But I don’t know how I might ever mend,
Without all my words to spend,
Like bright pennies at a bakery..’
She had a thought.
Say, do you have any cake?’
Alice sat, munching cake, and taking time out to think on the matter
She wakes up every morning
Just to die a little more,
And this feeling, unbelonging,
Well she wonders what it’s for.
The world’s a crazy jigsaw,
With no design to it,
And still she always tries so hard
To make the pieces fit.
The clutter of her past life,
Scars from so-called friends,
Too much toxic baggage
In a suitcase of pretend.
Life is life, no meaning,
No laugh, no joke, no prize.
There’s just the punchline friend,
And you’ll find it’s coffin size.
Now I am distilled,
An essence merely to be contained.
Poured into a tiny vial
No larger than a fingertip.
Sealed with scraps of cork and wax.
And this is me.
Relegated to a dusty, insignificant
Place upon a shelf.
There to remain,
Trapped within myself.
And the label,
Now yellowed with age,
Hath spidery writing scrawled,
Barely enough there to see
Words that remain. That say
I write poems how I’m going through Hell,
‘Cos up close I know you can’t really tell.
I spend days getting mentally ready,
So for that one afternoon you think I’m better, already.
Then I go home and fall
In a heap ‘gainst the wall,
Because if I’m better at all,
It’s just putting on elaborate shows,
So that you just won’t know…
It takes me three days to mend,
And then I do it again,
But the laugh is on me,
Because the person you see
Is who you expect me to be,
And it’s simply not fair,
Because that person’s not there,
No that person’s not there,
Because that person is me,
And that person’s not me.
Such a perfect disguise
That you believed all the lies,
But it’s to my demise,
’cause when it’s time for the truth
You just believe in your eyes
From all the times that I lied.
Lied, to me and you.
I think it could be rather fine,
If you allowed me to waste all your time.
There’s a trick when there is time to waste,
But you may like it once you try a taste.
It’s rather dull when you’re all alone,
Wasting that time on your own,
But if I waste my time with yours,
It no longer rains, it pours!
Running out in the pouring rain,
Laughing like we’re both insane,
Wasting time, side by side,
The world gets wonder multiplied.
All these things and more to do,
When wasted time is times by two,
So please let me waste your time,
And I promise you can waste mine.
No one clicked like
On my poem so far,
It’s been almost a minute.
Perhaps I put the wrong words in it.
Still no likes,
With an hour passed by,
I’m not insecure am I?
Still I try not to cry.
Still no likes now
Almost a day,
What on earth did I say?
Are they all ok?
I’ve not been outside,
Perhaps everyone’s died,
I do hope that’s the reason,
For me feeling so small,
Oh! A like!!
It’s OK after all…
Around my house
They’re planting cemetery trees,
And there’s no breeze.
Forth, or back,
As the flowers all bloom black,
In a garden such as no-one sees.
And the children play no more,
Where once they played before,
Outside my door
In the street.
Nobody can see me now,
At least, unless they choose,
Except the girl that lives in the house on fire
And pretends she has new shoes.
She says hello
From time to time.
I forgot to notice
When I stopped thinking I was ok.
If indeed, I ever considered such circumstance.
Now I am older,
But still, I find myself lost.
A child in a crowd,
Frightened and alone.
Alone on my own instead,
The crowd is in my head,
Everyone I’ve ever met,
Everything I ever said
Or maybe ever will,
I stopped forgetting
To notice if
I ever thought
That I thought I was ok.
I’m older than this time yesterday,
But younger than seconds hence,
I feel there’s so much more time to spend
On the other side of that fence.
I know all the lyrics to my favourite songs,
But can never remember the tune,
While only the grace of borrowed light
Allows you to see the moon.
I’m surrounded by good looking daydreams,
Of who I want, or want to be.
I’m in love with my ego,
But my ego don’t love me.
Flown to southern lands,
Settles down with healing hands.
Perfection perching in a tree,
Too high for such as me.
Tend not the roses,
Leave the grapes ‘pon the vine,
The dust to settle as it may.
For things will not ever change,
I will always be myself,
And it’s broken my heart this day.
Bad, sad day, what a pity.
My muse has died or fled the city.
Mind full of naught but ash and dust,
And all that’s left is just…
This machine is busted, hon,
Of all the lights there ain’t but one, that
Survived the flood of sorrow.
Still, don’t go feeling hard-by-done,
We had our days and maybe one, or
No race was lost, no race was won,
But nonetheless, our race was run, on
Time we borrowed.
But this machine is busted, hon.
The fall of darkness finds
Sleeping within cool sheets
And honest dreams. Though some perhaps,
Twisted sheets. Twisted dreams.
You said you drew night near
Because it was a dark and endless place.
One of life’s hidden mysteries,
How darkness folds to finds more space.
Recursive fractals, unlimited dimensions?
Logical limitations until you
Reverse them, inverse them,
Treat them like university knickers,
Inside out. Then front and back again.
Where does the negative space go
When it’s right there, missing on the page?
Where does everything else go,
When darkness makes it all unseen?
Peer into the spaces between,
Nothing that isn’t, is ever what it seems.
Perhaps darkness isn’t endless,
But rather an end in so many ways.
Severed from the tip of the universe
When the beginning was just beginning
It’s beginning phase.
And not knowing what else to do,
It just lingered without a clue,
Clinging and surrounding.
Is simply a lost and lonely loose end.
Looking for a friend.
How quickly happiness becomes
A devoured distant moment.
She looks at me, in essence, like
That hated London sweater,
Once gifted by her grandmother.
How she would burn every thread
If such an act could pass without remark.
Like the bright eyes of a Blackbird,
I too have brief, bright moments of hope.
And I hope, indicated by a nod from
The old chess player in the park,
That ‘Things Might Improve’.
Instead he said “things only get sadder.
Be it one lump or two, they all dissolve.
The way each of us dies,
Back into the dark.’
“I’ll tell you plain, that you
Should have expected it by now.
It is as it will always be,
Like an icy dagger,
In her heart, and in her hand.’
He nodded as if I should understand.
But I can’t relax. I’m spinning like
Galaxies around a clock,
And when I chance upon the rarity of a dream,
It’s in white and endless days.
I walk alone, and I weep. Weep
For my Guardian Angel, perishing, always perishing.
Never knowing which pieces are her or me.
Never seeing the tiny bloodstained feathers.
You just do what you do.
And I can’t help having
Feelings for you.
So (don’t?) stay away.
I’d be lying if I said
I wanted to,
Because all I
Want is you.
Where’d it go?
The bright star I should follow.
The blackbird or the swallow,
I hoped would guide me home.
For I am lost.
Meandering, misguided and malingering,
Looking for a coloured string
Or breadcrumbs softly scattering
That mark my path unknown.
You may feel lucky when you know where you are,
But unfortunately for me and my stolen star,
This reversely is adversely conversely true,
And I’ve wandered way too far.
And the moment, this moment, well maybe I own it,
Or maybe I’m in a dark room,
Pitch black, with a cat that I’m trying to catch,
Whose existence I only assume.
And my dreams all sprout from darkness sown,
And I’m always and never forever alone,
They forged my last sword into a throne,
An unending game I play to atone.
Swirling in my haunted head,
Promises broken, friends misled,
Choosing one, not the other instead,
What have you got to lose?
Only your dreams, your soul and your shoes,
And the brightly coloured thread.
Staring at life, but
Can’t grab it.
Cheaper by tube,
Still cab it.
Can’t have it.
I’m in a
Taking pills and weed,
Can’t stand it,
Nobody planned it.
Some kind of clue?
Never had it.
Crash my own party like I’m
Mad at it.
Some kind of lifestyle?
Bad at it.
Think I’m simply on the
I don’t believe in God, the Devil,
Heaven, Hell or Sin,
But if someone did create me
They put too much crazy in.
It was supposed to be a spoonful
But they poured in a whole cup.
Now this mixed up mood of mine
Can’t tell down from up.
‘Oops’ he said, as on he stirred,
Aloud was heard a dirty word.
‘The jar I thought said ‘Vocal Pitch’,
Was accidentally ‘Total Bitch’.’
‘To balance, I’ll add ‘Passive Front’,
‘Oh crap, that was ‘Massive C*nt’.
This one could be trouble now,
I’ve gone and mucked it up.
I know, to make sure no harm’s done,
I’ll add in ‘All Fucked Up’.
I saw Alice in a shattered mirror,
Barely recognised or seen.
I knew that I’d been out of touch
And asked her how she’d been.
I hoped she hadn’t suffered much.
She said she hurt. Hurt like never before,
No drugs worked, no sun anymore.
She looked at me, then I was the mirror,
She said ‘how’s it feel now you’re broken through?
Do you bleed inside? Are you out of your mind?
‘Cause I’m out of my mind too.’
And all that I could say,
Was I even died on good days,
Because every morning feels
Like a spiders sting that stays.
And though the ground falls beneath me,
I float because I’m empty.
But deflate too soon.
She nodded, not seeming very surprised.
‘No one sees me either, I’m just dust in people’s eyes.’
‘No words I can believe,
Because they’re designed just to deceive.
I can always see through,
Anything and everything said to
I felt her pain, nodded again,
Said it’s lonely here without you.
‘Someones touch, I crave so much.
Even if they hold me and squeeze,
‘Til my insides crush and bleed,
I still might get what I need.’
She said they always leave you wounded.
Her torso had a hole,
And it bled right through her soul.
She turned, and then she became me,
Or did I become her inside?
The hole was in my torso though,
And that was how we died.
I’m a hypocrite of great degree,
For I think forums hurt more than they heal.
It’s nice to have some sympathy,
But stay out of the hamster wheel.
I have become a child of the dark,
Which inside me grows wild.
Yet at the same time, meadowlark,
Full of brilliant smiles.
So take a forum post as needed,
Fill it with your woes.
Hoping it is read and heeded,
Sympathised by those.
But be wary of the kindness trap,
For sympathy is to treasure,
But if it always draws you back,
Then I advise, take measure.
I know that in the passing days,
I’ve been a victim and a villain.
But with every so called healing phrase,
It’s ourselves that we are killing.
Lately I’m not doing so well,
Thought you should know.
My mind’s half heaven, half hell,
But there’s no difference I can tell.
I’m standing still as life speeds by,
Thought you should know.
I’m lost in the wood, no bearing.
Bleeding out in the cold, uncaring.
It hurts to be alive,
Thought you should know.
It’s overloaded all my senses,
And I’m left without defences.
Lately I’m not doing so well,
Thought you should know.
In case I go.
I don’t sleep, I bleed in dreams,
Cut by darkness.
Always falling, never fell.
When I breathe, can never tell
My sobbing from my screams.
I’ve often been to the edge and back,
It’s now a familiar sight.
This might be why I always wear black,
It feels false to wear anything bright.
Cheerful colour is something I lack,
And I never don anything white,
No sporty wear designed for the track,
Somehow it doesn’t feel right.
I only get things from the discard rack,
To better reflect my plight.
Every single one of us
Has something longing tries.
That speaks from unseen places,
Within each heart, decries.
No grand proclamations,
No great discourse or mystic word,
But a simple desire
To be understood and heard.
With each attempt to make a sound,
Ten will overcome.
Our melodies defeated,
Our vocal chords undone.
Too oft these sounds are violent,
Compelling gentleness to choke and die.
For each of us that has no voice,
Therein shadows lie.
I’ve mistaken me for someone else,
Someone I thought was more myself.
But as always, it seems that I was wrong.
I’ve been nothing like myself all along.
Sometimes I’m on the edge,
Only held up by your hand,
Your fingertips dictate my fall,
That was my plan after all.
Sometimes I hold on tightly,
As tightly as I can, simply so,
I’m the only one who lets us go.
Am I insane,
To blame the bee if it stings?
Even when I tore off both its wings?
I had so much to say,
Too much to say after all.
In the end, I said nothing at all.
I took your wings,
All of your things,
So you would stay.
In the end, you left me anyway.
But I can still taste honey.
It seems I posess a penchant
For inexplicably, inextricably
Colouring on the outside
Of lines they create with such pride
Then insist I remain inside.
I ask for pencils
In Shades of Cezanne Blue,
And lines are just a thing
I want to draw right through.
I felt I was drawing everything alone,
But one day I saw you:
Colouring outside the lines.
I spend so much effort resistin’
Anything that feels like addiction,
Convinced myself I was winning,
While you were addicted and grinning.
Now I’m not so sure,
What I was put here for,
Always avoiding the dance floor,
Avoiding drugs and drink even more.
Got buried in my own sorrow,
Hating being alive,
While you lived life like tomorrow
Would never, ever arrive.
So who was the idiot then?
Happiest way back when
We had the chance to be carefree.
I thought that I could see
Further than you.
Guess I hadn’t a clue.
You seem happier still,
Moreso than I ever will.
Lately I seem to find
Myself in a forest of pines…
My wisdom but a soap bubble
I am Jack’s smirking bravado.
Performing such convincing shows
So all who watch will never know
The depths to which I go.
How I am beaten bloody,
Mind smashed ’til I cry for peace,
But still I grin through broken teeth.
And where is Jack?
Shown his true colours and fled,
While my own true colours have bled
Upon the hands of society.
Eventually I break,
My body and my pride,
Taking more than I can take,
Revealing the fear
I always keep inside.
The first rule of depression,
You don’t talk about depression.
Those of us whom
In life, are cast to play the sadder part,
And so sad thus,
Said possessive of a heavy heart.
Oh! Feel the weight of me!
I heard once,
Diamond was the hardest thing on earth.
I think they’re wrong,
Just my opinion, but for what it’s worth,
The hardest thing in any place,
Is resisting confessing to your face
That I think I love you.
By far the hardest thing to do..
Could cleave a diamond right in two.
The only thing that could be harder than that bit..
Is going through and saying it.
As you no longer stand
Where you always stood,
This emptiness inside me is so
One hundred million butterflies
Together flapped their wings
The moment you departed.
A coiencedntal thing? That did far
More than leave me broken hearted,
Now it’s a massive tidalwave your
Butterflies have started.
As it looms, large above my shores,
I’m left without a life-boat,
All I have are wooden oars.
And although it means that I would drown,
If you need them,
They are yours.
My friend wants to take a bit,
Party, Go right off her tit,
Get totally fucking lit,
Like a Christmas tree.
I say “I won’t touch that shit,
Not even the smallest bit,
Because I know that I will like it
Far too much you see.
And when you go too far
I don’t want to do CPR
On the floor of the latest bar
That you’ve dragged me to.”
I told her “In the ending you
Will wind up in ICU,
Face all corpse-pale-blue,
So be careful what you do.
After Christmas trees are cut
They die on Christmas day,
Then they’re burnt or thrown away,
Don’t be a Christmas tree that way.”
Drugs are baad, hmm’kaaay?
Dying is baad, hmm’kaaay?
Enjoy a safe end of year.
Dreams are easy to achieve,
If dreams are all you want to be.
The sky may be full of Angels,
With just your lonely star,
But if they’re dancing on that pin,
They won’t be going far.
The only way for you to win:
Be more than it says on the tin,
More than you think you are.
Well here we are, it’s time again,
The festive season.
Time to hurt the ones we love,
No rhyme nor reason.
An Angel sits atop the tree,
As something to believe in.
Should e’er an angel come to earth,
May my heart unfreeze then.
If we all got gifts our deeds deserve,
Not rewards just for believing,
There’d be no need to wrap them up,
You can’t hide the truth by deceiving.
Good to heaven, bad to hell?
Some have faith,
But some things
You can’t buy or sell.
We all find what we need to believe,
Don’t need a reason.
I only have faith in what I can see,
Enjoy plastic season.
I don’t think I ever grew up, just older.
“There’s no happy ending.. so they say.
Not for me, anyway…”
-Dr. Horrible’s Sing-along Blog
Whats the time?
Seems I’m already mourning,
I see the sky,
No longer beautiful without you.
And it was good,
But it’s over now.
No more listening on my pillow,
Now it’s buried, in the ground,
No more music, just an air of silence
In my headphones, and all around.
One more clarion belle falls silent.
You say you think you’ll drown
And that you’re lost at sea.
I say keep your eyes on me,
I’ll do my best to be
A guiding light.
You’ll be alright,
Just wait and see.
We’re back to dry land now.
But I never told you how
I started that fire,
Created the pyre
That suddenly saved you.
I think you know it,
But you never show it,
So I stay silent too.
But things are no longer same,
Even though there’s no-one to blame.
But there was nothing to burn, out there at sea…
I bear the scars of your forty-fives,
You tried your best but I’m still alive.
You used two pistols and magazines,
Shot my heart and destroyed my dreams,
But a heart still works if it still cries,
And I cry.
I’m full of holes from your forty-fives,
You couldn’t have missed me if you tried,
But planned demise isn’t what it seems,
Because I survived all your plots and schemes,
And a thing’s alive if it still bleeds,
And I bleed.
Now I’m immune to your forty-fives,
And when you shoot me, I will still survive.
The slugs are out and the wounds are clean,
So go find better guns, if you’re still keen,
Cos a girl’s alive if she can dream,
And I dream.
I said to my friend ‘Most of the time, I just hate being me. I wish I was someone different.
Do other people have those kind of thoughts, or is it just me that thinks that way?’.
She said ‘No, other people wish you were someone different too.’
I don’t know that you exist,
On others, I don’t even really care.
I want to slit my wrists,
‘Tho I fear I’ll find but emptiness there.
On so many other days
I’m simply lost inside my brain,
At least the parts that still remain.
And if you cut me all apart,
You’ll find emptiness and pain, no sign of a heart.
But some days
I cannot unremember,
For the sun becomes an ember
When compared to you.
All that will exist
Are the parts of you I’ve kissed,
So at least I will have all of you.
You’re my everything.
I suppose the trees, in retrospect,
I should have attended, my neglect
Of time’s subtle scythe, and due respect
For their reminder; nature always calls,
And she who answers always falls.
A premonition of my future
Abandoned casually by trees
Autumn leaves, as they led
Falling echoes of my life,
Fleeting, fled. Underfoot
On which to tread, and I,
Despondent, sighing said:
‘There lies everything,
Don’t by it’s beauty, be misled.
The whole world and all within ends thus:
These dying leaves are us’.
Success can make you bleed,
Because what I thought I wanted
Wasn’t really what I need.
And it’s not how I imagined
To walk a mile in those shoes.
Sometimes when you think you win,
War in my mind.
There’s a war in my mind.
Seek and ye shall find,
That it’s howling all the time,
There’s a war in my mind.
Black in my soul.
It’s all black in my soul.
No diamond in the coal,
I reap just what I sow,
It’s all black in my soul.
– Beth Hart / War in My Mind
I find it somewhat ironic that in society today, when someone suffers greatly from a particular mental illness or malady, that they will go to such lengths to ‘heal’ them.
All kinds of medications and treatments have been prescribed to me.
Many that are illegal in any other context.
Amphetamines, benzodiazapines, anti-psychotics.
Iron infusions, supplements, electrocuting your brain.
They do so much to keep you alive and attempt to make you functional.
Even when they shouldn’t.
Even when it would be so much cheaper and easier to let you die, they still refuse.
But they have no objections about removing your rights, forcing you against your will to continue to exist in constant misery and suffering. To remain alive.
Even when you shouldn’t.
I used to dream of the great ships.
The enormous deep space freighters.
They had seemed so romantic and mysterious then.
A silly girl, dreaming of interstellar adventure and glory.
I turn up at the wedding,
But they won’t let me in,
I must have been specified
I’m sure I’m on the guest list,
Please have one more look,
It’s my sister getting married
So I must be in the book.
Can’t you see that I’m a bridesmaid?
I’m getting kind of harried
And I’d hate to make a mess,
But if you don’t step aside,
I have a switchblade in this dress.
So I’m jiggling my legs like some frenetic junkie, waiting for the benzos and codeine to kick in.
It’s one of those nights where despite the warmth of the room, I feel cold inside.
My self hating nihilism is all-prevailing and the certainty that I will never be better, that I am doomed to endure day after day of misery and frustration, clings to me like a cold wet bedsheet.
The experience of staying awake all night, especially 2 or 3 days/nights continuously, not only creeps into joints and muscles as stiffness and pain, but eventually becomes a pressure inside the head, like a clamp crushing upon your brain.
Given enough time, everything about staying awake for extended periods of time becomes unpleasant.
My best efforts to boost my mood upward, to think of positive things, and to convince myself life is worthwhile, such as trying to believe that one day I may be even happy, is met every time now by Poes’ Raven, embedded in my mind, it’s vocabulary no greater now than from it’s famous past.
‘Things are going to get better’, I repeat to myself.
“Nevermore”, comes the inetivetible reply.
‘One day, I will be happy’, I even try to believe it.
The Raven croaks, “Nevermore”.
‘I WILL be happy’, I tell it.
I wonder if it understands double negatives.
‘I will not never be happy’, I offer.
In the end, I just return it’s ridicule.
‘I will not never inversely opposite become antithetically unhappy’, I say, although I doubt it will fall for any convolutions of syntax and reply ‘Nevermore’.
The raven just stares at me. I suppose because the raven is a creation in my mind, trying to fool myself when I know the plan, isn’t really very logical.
But logic seems to diminish exponentially as hours continue to pass without sleep.
As does motivation, positivity, and the will to live.
I’m beginning to become so freaked out that I can’t even cry.
I want to, I can feel the tears behind my eyes, but the raw scraping of my nerves won’t let them flow.
A tiny bit less control and I’d probably be laughing maniacally. Panic and lack of reason start burning hot in my chest, a strange counter point to the ceaseless icy chill in my guts.
From experience I’ll still be awake this time tomorrow (5.30am), so there’s always some potentially delusional posts to look forward to.
Some might fall asleep with ease,
Amost equal to the envy
That graces my every weary breath.
These empty, malicious hours
Will not be filled by mere distraction,
Night demands complete attention.
She will be neither shunned nor ignored,
Tearing into your head like sheets of sandpaper.
Time, ever her gleeful accomplice, slows all,
Until the distance between each minute mark
Surpasses all the great oceans as one.
While confined to a coffee cup,
You keep paddling.
There seem so many truths,
Which one do I face?
Which one takes the place
On the pedestal?
When I tried to face them all,
They warned me I would fall;
See me falling.
Trying to pretend
That the song will never end,
But for better or for worse
I think I’m running short of verse.
I can pretend at emotion,
Lip syncing to the song,
But the words are all rehearsed,
And each line is getting worse.
All I feel now is an emptiness,
Just nothingness, maybe less.
An undefined ache
Where I thought my soul should go,
But I’ve always been a fake
And I just put on a show.
So convincingly the act
That I once believed the fact
That I could be a real girl.
But oh, Pinoccio,
I should have listened
‘One need not be a chamber to be haunted; One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing Material place.’
— Emily Dickinson
“I have never seen battles quite as terrifyingly beautiful as the ones I fight when my mind splinters and races, to swallow me into my own madness, again.”
— Nicole Lyons / Hush
“And I keep on tellin’ everyone the truth,
But maybe that’s not the move,
And everyone wants to hear a strong opinion…
If it’s the same as you.
And they say honesty is the best policy,
If that were true,
Don’t think all of my friends would hate me.
— Bea Miller / That Bitch
So, apparently I’ve been using the apostrophe placement in sentences containing possessive pronouns, and plurals thereof, incorrectly.
Apologies for any suffering caused.
If I had anything to say, maybe of interest,
I’d pin the fuckin’ thing up on my pinterest.
But all my conversations now are with myself,
And it’s slowly eating at my mental health.
Like seagulls picking at a whales’ rotting corpse,
The wide beach view is fine, until of course,
You look a bit closer, see the detail,
That’s my sanity: half eaten whale.
I should probably get a friend or maybe two,
I like them in the same way that I like you.
Fine until they open up their mouth,
Then I don’t want to hear whatever shit is coming out.
Well, maybe I’m a narcissistic bitch,
With some really messed up kind of mental itch,
But if I scratch it ’til it don’t itch no more,
There’ll be chunks of greyish matter scattered all over the floor.
They say you’ll never love someone until you learn to love yourself,
Well Catch 22, asshole, here’s a thought, I’ll share the wealth,
How can I learn to love me, ’til I’m shown love by someone else?
The lesson goes both ways, as most good lessons do,
Since everybody hates me,
I’ve learned how to hate me too.
Spent three weeks in an unmade bed,
A pounding in my skull,
Repeating thoughts in my head.
Like the lyrics of a song
Singing ‘please let me die before long.’
I’m trying hard to hold on to the act of holding on,
But even now my own mind wants me gone,
So the line I’m holding onto’s not that strong.
The basic problem with this kind of rope, you see,
Is that it’s tethered far too tightly to my sanity.
Maybe if I enjoyed a single moment,
Maybe if I could control or own it,
I’d be happier alive,
Given a reason to survive,
But all I get is non-stop misery.
So fuck me.
No apologies for profanity.
I’m stuck here in my head, wishing I was fuckin’ dead,
Because there’s nothing in this world that I can see,
Nothing for me.
Nothing for me.
The first bottle was so sweet,
I ordered a case of kisses
Now I’m drunk on your lips,
From nothing but sips,
Do you long to drink deeply too?
The fun-fair’s coming to an end,
The few poor tokens yet to spend
Have tumbled from my pocket.
I hesitate and weigh the cost,
Move along, or seek them? Lost
Among the trampled grasses.
The mask that lasted for so long,
Now cracked, the smile forever gone,
Has broken, and will not stay on.
‘He said, “I see you now, and you are so very young,
But I’ve seen more battles lost than I have battles won,
And I’ve got this intuition, says it’s all for your fun.
And now will you tell me why?”
Well the young queen, she fixed him with an arrogant eye.
She said, “You won’t understand, and you may as well not try”
But her face was a child’s, and he thought she would cry,
But she closed herself up like a fan.
And she said, “I have swallowed a secret burning thread.
It cuts me inside, and often I’ve bled”.’
– from ‘The Queen and The Soldier‘ by Suzanne Vega
Raistlin. Of course I was always Raistlin. Weren’t we all? I’m pretty sure that was the point. Or maybe I’m a bad judge of fiction. It’s been a while since I read it.
I don’t ever recall categorising or identifying characters by ‘gender role’ back then. Instead, sorted them by, as Magneto puts it, ‘what I want, and how I’m going to get it.’
I think that puts me….just over the Neutral/Good side of the True Neutral line..
Great, apparently my gender identity / awareness is based on an AD&D alignment table…As well as revealing me to be a massive nerd. Methinks I spake too much. (Contemplates deleting this post..)
With great power comes great mental illness / torment.
Seems to be one of those days. Time to get offline.
Some days I don’t know if I’m more like Dr. Horrible or Penny.
Surrounded by tired clichés,
My mind dies.
A myriad of mortal, mired ways.
As is wont with mind to mend,
I’m drawn to midnight lakes’ embrace.
My freezing, bare-feet thoughtless wend
To every deeper, quiet place.
I forget how elegantly swirling stars
Weave such delicate distractions.
Flickering inside and out
Barely seen refractions.
Starlight floats in darker water,
Gently mesmerising motes.
The lake becoming midnights’ daughter,
Magic and music without notes.
More oft’ my private galaxy,
Calms more than ‘cut’n’bleeding’,
Regardless, tonight my regret remains
Highly caffeinated, thoughts still speeding.
[End pt 1.]
I never even noticed the clock.
Did it tick?
Did it tock?
Did it not?
Was it frozen in indecision,
In the moment that was lost
When you reached the doorway threshold
And you stepped across?
Stuck? Between that second and the last,
Unable to move on, unable to move past
A fate of helpless observation,
Endless replaying rotation.
A mechanical mind,
Unable to find resolution
Or a hint of absolution,
Sounds so very much like mine.
Because when you left the last time,
When you left for the very last time..
I never even noticed the clock.
I can smile at a party.
After the turn out, I
Turn off my burnt out
I can greet you on the street
And you won’t even ask
About the chosen mask
I look through out at you.
I can attend a family event,
I’m still quite able
To sit at a table,
Pretending to be me.
See the pallette spread before me,
Choose a colour, it adorns me.
Pick the right one, I can be
Anyone I want to be.
If I can be anybody, oh so easily,
No difference that any one, not even I can see,
One face or another, all so equally..
Which one is really me?
She brings me spun-shadow,
Like a cotton-candy treat,
Delicate, and deceptively sweet,
She says ‘taste of this’.
Already sugar high,
It’s so easy just to try
Spun sugar with a darker dye,
Just a bite.
But an insidious spiders web,
A sticky gossamer thread
Like fine, fine spun-sugar,
Gets inside your head.
Ensnares you there
Wraps around you,
Like a sticky quicksand glue.
Mired in darkness
That clings and brings
‘Taste of this’.
Have you seen my life around?
Now it’s lost,
I have found,
The whole world wanting.
Not pages torn from fairy tales,
Far stranger by many accords,
No songs to make a million sales,
Or plays stepped out on Broadway boards.
But it’s a dizzy, dancing, summer spark,
A falling, flying Meadowlark, and
All those nights spent in the park
Laughing in rain, and wet, and dark.
Also the sharpest knife that ever was,
A blade that has no par.
It has to be that sharp because
It constantly cuts, with ne’er a scar.
Those kind of days are hard to misplace,
Oft’ tattooed upon my face,
There, in ink you can’t erase,
Writ large the tale, my fall from grace.
Did I learn to hate myself
With such immaculate perfection?
Self taught and unaware,
Still I excell, I succeed,
Seemingly such a strange sensation,
For I fail flawlessly amongst
Yeah I lost it.
My mind, I lost that too.
I lost my heart and everything,
The moment I lost you.
Now I’m shaking and unsure of
How I’m supposed to feel,
My friend’s are so blasé
But to me it’s a huge deal.
My stomach’s in my chest,
I’ve lost track of all the rest,
Each cell in me is bleeding tears.
Although I’ve tried to act my best,
I don’t give a fuck about
Backlash or all that cost,
When all I want is gone,
So you might think I look ok,
Kinda normal in a geeky-goth way.
But I always dream and dream of the world
Where I’m the ‘trembling, adored, tousled bird-mad girl’.
And I long to have a writing-desk,
Like a raven in a riddle,
‘But there’s something inside,
Trying to eat its way out from the middle’.
I’m a tattered teddy-bear,
Never quite cared for enough.
Although I claim that I don’t care,
I’m still completely stuffed.
Our whole lives playing
At make-believe and pretend,
Like every song or story,
All songs and stories
We act so well, the human lie,
But acting takes its tole,
For if we are to fit the role,
A piece of us must die.
Some quotes on depression from two of my favourite authors, and pretty much how I feel right now.
” In every way that counted, I was dead. Inside somewhere maybe I was screaming and weeping and howling like an animal, but that was another person deep inside, another person who had no access to the lips and face and mouth and head, so on the surface I just shrugged and smile and kept moving. If I could have physically passed away, just let it all go, like that, without doing anything, stepped out of life as easily as walking through a door I would have done. But I was going to sleep at night and waking in the morning, disappointed to be there and resigned to existence.”. ― Neil Gaiman
“Depression is the most unpleasant thing I have ever experienced. . . . It is that absence of being able to envisage that you will ever be cheerful again. The absence of hope.
That very deadened feeling, which is so very different from feeling sad.
Sad hurts but it’s a healthy feeling. It is a necessary thing to feel.
Depression is very different.”. ― J.K. Rowling
Did you ever never
Stop and ponder whether
If forever is a never
that simply will not die?
Then maybe never is an ever
That was severed from forever
And will eternally endeavour
To reconnect together
From the tragically cut tether
That was in a manner clever,
Keeping ever, never and forever
From being ForNeverEver.
In which the author experiences an inability to articulate herself, thus expressing emotions and turmoil via choice lyrics. Potentially for some time ( days/weeks…months?)
Today’s mood: hopeful melancholia
Here’s a story of a girl
Who grew up lost and lonely.
Thinking love was fairytale,
And trouble was made only
Even in the darkness
Every colour can be found,
And every day of rain brings water
Flowing to things
Growing in the ground.
Excerpt from ‘Penny’s Song’/ ‘Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog’
-Singer: Felicia Day
-Music : Joss Whedon
-Lyric : Muarissa Tancharoen and Jed Whedon
Here’s the thing:
Small glitch. Device died. Lost my tags.
This may result in the occasional doubling up / repost.
It will all sort itself out in the end, I imagine.
How did I miss them?
Everyday they came.
So small, it all just seemed the same.
If I noticed without worry, I am sorry.
For each microscopic gap, the infinite tiny spaces,
Gathering gradually over time.
Connecting to make this chasm.
Such a painfully intricate distance
15 boxes of pencils, and
Countless pages, and
I’m still trying to write
How I feel about me.
15 boxes empty, and
More notesbooks full, and
I’m still trying to draw
What I want you to see.
When your mind is broken
And the world is wreckage
They tell you to say:
That you’re not ok,
No, you’re not OK.
So I said it, I wrote it,
Used my blood to draw,
And what the fuck for?
Nobody listened, nobody cared,
Nobody got what I shared and I shared.
I guess that was lucky,
Because although I had tried
To express how I wish how I really had died,
Express how I hated myself and my life,
How my pain got less with each cut of a knife,
It turns out I was actually, really, OK,
Compared to how fucked I am now anyway.
Soulmates and lovers and
BAEs til the end.
They come and they go,
So I guess they pretend.
They all seem to break
When they should try to bend.
If you ask me the truth,
All I want is a friend.
My heart seems to ache,
It won’t bend, it will break,
Because all that I want is a friend.
‘You were blessed by a different kind of inner view:
It’s all magnified.
The highs would make you fly,
And the lows make you want to die.
And I was once there,
Hanging from that very ledge where you are standing.
So I know, I know, I know,
It’s easier to let go. ‘
-Nightminds / Missy Higgins
‘There were sounds in my head,
Little voices whispering
That I should go and this should end,
Oh, and I found myself listening.’
-Where I stood / Missy Higgins
‘But that’s not how I feel about you,
In fact I never wanna see you at all.
So maybe I’ll inject gasoline in my eye,
And hold a lighter to my eyeball.’
-I’d Rather / Hank Green & The Perfect Strangers
‘You’re coming round too late,
I’ve taken off my face,
And you won’t like it.
I haven’t seen anyone in days,
But it’s best this way,
You see I don’t like it.
Don’t want to be anyone again.’
-Low Blows / Meg Mac
Blow on, Ye wolves of the world,
Howl and hammer ‘pon my door.
This axe is whetted well,
My walls far more than sticks and straw.
Which was once considered easy prey,
Now armed and filled with violent rage.
Therefore unto thee I say:
‘Best Ye blow the other way’
Apparently my informed honesty is wasted,
Overwhelmed by stolen analogies and unfriend-me messages.
‘Unbalanced Alice’, so susceptible to mind-space deficiencies
And fairy-tale moonlight monoaminergic rushes.
The happiest of unhappy clowns. Careful never to grow up,
Because adults abuse their lungs and veins,
Simply to achieve the same.
Despite these slow bright waterdrops,
My rainbow remains incomplete.
I thought I had booked my happiness well ahead of time,
Pre-forming a flood of excess enthusiasm.
Instead, I made popcorn for the gathering storm
And prepared to go swimming.
Still not sure which to get.
If only oblivion tasted more
Like raspberry and chocolate.
Why are these things so hard to choose?
Although nothing really matters when
There’s nothing left to lose.
Vodka? Tequila? Fifty year-old Scotch?
My favourite song that hurts just right,
Put on ‘The Crow’ to watch.
Video diary? Hand written letter?
Email or text?
It doesn’t matter, it will won’t change
What will happen next.
The worst part
Isn’t that you hate me.
It’s that you make me hate myself.
-Doctor Who / The Eleventh Hour. ( Matt Smith)
I’m not sure if I forgot
Or have just grown indecisive,
But I can’t really quite recall
Exactly what my life is.
I used to know where I belong.
Used to have a favourite song.
Now I don’t know
What my greatest fear is,
Favourite beer is,
Time of year is,
Or even how deep the lithosphere is..
OK, I never really knew that last one,
Carry on, my wayward son.
Her smile is a Mona Lisa Crash Cart.
A work of art that stops and starts
The broken beat of my poor heart.
Her lips are painting perfect, her smile mystifying,
I bet even a single kiss would be electrifying.
When it’s briefly, brilliantly, put on display,
I surge with desire to steal her away.
When I see her, my career ambition
Is ‘art critic with a heart condition’,
So I can see her defibrillating smile play,
As they wheel my body away.
Wanna know how I got this scar?
Let my trust stretch a touch too far.
Got run over by the car
That you happened to be driving.
Shattered limbs, broken bones,
Barely breathing, made it home.
Found everything I’d ever owned
Burning on the front lawn.
You said our life was such a mess,
Everything my fault, more or less.
It didn’t hurt much, I confess,
Until you smiled.
Destroy the things I want and need,
Run me down, for I concede,
The only thing that makes me bleed
Is that smile.
Like a knife, it cuts me deep,
Leaving scars I’ll always keep.
You ask me how, but already knew.
I got these scars from you.
Where do the pieces of a broken heart go
If they’re too fragile to stitch, or you don’t know how to sew?
Are they put back together with some mystical glue,
Or is there somewhere you can go, to purchase one that’s new?
One thing’s for certain, it takes forever in time,
Fresh hearts are in demand, judging by the waiting line.
Installing a new heart must be hard, I’ve no doubt,
But I’m stuck at the part where your insides are your out.
This isn’t really new though, it’s not my first time ’round,
First-timers wait the longest, due to covering fresh ground.
I always ask for Adamantium, for a heart that cannot break,
But they keep giving me a glass one, and no choice but to take.
I never see who does it all, maybe it’s Santa Claus.
If he’s not received my letter yet,
I’d like to add this clause:
“Dear Santa, let’s just skip right to the end,
You can forgo all the material gifts,
If you’ll hurry up and mend
I thought I was too cool to care,
Now maybe that’s too true,
There’s an Eskimo outside my door
Building an igloo.
I’ve always wanted to be cool,
But detachment was my reason,
Now I am so very cool,
So cool, I’m fucking freezin’.
Frozen up in isolation
I can’t relate to you.
I’m the White Witch of Narnia*,
Somehow remade anew.
Snowdrifts almost covered me, my igloo and my sled,
I was speechless as you walked away,
Then you turned and said:
‘You know nothing ‘pon snow.
Let it go.
Let it go.’
*(though really, you can’t beat Tilda Swinton).
Melancholy musings must
As everything, regress to dust.
All things return from whence they came,
Doth my memory the same.
Sparks of Spring-blessed childhood.
Early risings and cool dawn grass,
As sunrise amplified reality
Granting tiny temporary kingdoms
To my imaginative keeping.
Barefoot child I,
Twixt river and orchard wild,
Would careless spend my day
Full of mud, fruit and fae.
Until as is wont, up I grew.
Something one should never do..
I hate weekdays,
They drag us from our bed,
Where we could snuggle down together,
Keep each other warm instead.
The winter morning chill pervades the room,
Then together, almost as one, and far too soon,
We cast aside the cover,
Glancing shrewdly at each other
Before competing for first shower,
Hot-water, soap, and scour,
While the other makes us coffee,
With toast all buttered down,
Warming frozen fingers,
Wrapped in a dressing gown.
Humming out a cheerful morning song.
Perhaps I don’t hate weekdays all along.
Melvin Udall: “People that talk in metaphors oughta shampoo my crotch.”
-As Good As it Gets
Melvin Udall: “Some of us have great stories, pretty stories that take place at lakes, with boats, and friends, and noodle salad. Just no one in this car. But, a lot of people, that’s their story; good times, noodle salad. What makes it so hard is not that you had it bad, but that you’re that pissed that so many others had it good.”
– As Good As It Gets
“Procrastination is a way for us to be satisfied with second-rate results; we can always tell ourselves we’d have done a better job if only we had more time…If you’re good at rationalizing, you can keep yourself feeling rather satisfied this way, but it’s a cheap happy. You’re whittling your expectations of yourself down lower and lower.”
When you liked me,
I even kind of liked myself.
Now you say you hate me
Like you’ve hated nothing else…
Hey, It’s me, calling up at 2am,
Just a little bit off my face.
Ima need some bail again,
For fighting at some place.
Shouldn’t have gone out,
Probably should have stayed home,
But when I’m empty, and angry,
I’m not safe when I’m alone.
I tried my best to fill up the hole,
Indulged in dancing and alcohol.
Maybe got just a tiny bit lit, but,
It’s called a hole ‘cos there’s nothing innit.
Lost my temper, and before I knew,
I glassed some bitch and her boyfriend too.
She needs stitches, he might be blind,
Maybe I went too far this time.
It filled the hole, but I must confess,
It only filled up with more emptiness.
Black is the colour in which stars shine,
And hiding underneath closed eyes,
Black is the colour in which you’ll find
Dreams and Realms Untold reside.
There within the colour of coal,
A canvas for the mind and soul,
A wonderland where you’re made whole.
Not a colour, but a tone,
It’s somewhere safe to call your own,
A place that’s yours,
And yours alone.
You say goodnight,
Time for bed.
In the stillness of the room
I can hear your gentle breathing,
You have fallen straight to sleep
Before my feet are done unfreezing.
Another icy night,
It’s the middle of that season,
Our body-warmth beneath the quilt
Is not the only reason
To lay here.
To stay here.
I picture monsters in the darkness,
But I’m not much for believing,
There are much worse things by far,
Like the clock hand slowly cleaving.
Cleaving away each helpless hour.
And I lie here, wide awake,
Hours long since passed from evening,
Well into the morning now,
I wonder what you’re dreaming.
Because I’ll lie here with my mind,
My mind all madly teeming,
Body cramping, muscles screaming,
Trying so hard not to move,
Or accidentally waken you.
I’ll lie here all night, suffering instead,
So that you can sleep soundly, when we both share a bed.
So this is what ‘forever’ looks like
From the other side.
A lot like broken promises
And echoes of goodbye.
Like everything you never got
But always thought you’d get.
Like each forgotten lonely grave
Of every childhood pet.
The only thing that’s certain is,
It looks a lot like loneliness.
I thought I’d upgrade my depression,
See how it’s looking in 4K.
Ultra High Definition is the new norm now,
At least that’s what they say.
So I tried my tears in Ultra High,
Unsurprised to see,
The resolutions that I cry,
Are way past UHD.
One AM is staring at the ceiling.
Two AM, the window and the moon.
Three AM can’t tell me what I’m feeling,
Four o’clock is too large for this room.
Five is slowly breathing in,
Six is breathing out.
Seven with the sun up brings
Another day without
Unsure, I feel unsafe.
Former pillars and paragons of my life
Now indifferent to my demise,
Pretend to care just enough
To avoid aspersions and lies,
Potential implications of associated guilt.
The small signature attached to the bottom
Is cutting and carelessly impersonal.
A full stop to the note :
‘If you do it, don’t make a mess inside.
I’m the one who has to clean it up.’
Suicide reduced to an inconvenience.
You realise Disney’s ‘Beauty & The Beast’ isn’t really a love story, Belle just has Stockholm Syndrome.
There are plenty of moments
Of heartache I admit,
Some hurt more than others,
And those hurt quite a bit.
But nothing cut me open
As surely and as swift,
As when you walked up
And handed back all of my gifts.
The ones that had meaning,
Given over years.
But you just dumped them in my hands,
Ignoring all my tears.
I confess not knowing what to say,
Never having felt that way.
You walked away, left me to hold
Rejected pieces of my soul.
Keep one eye on the wolf, my dear,
And one eye on the door.
But then who dreams the dreamer, dear?
And which one came before?
So one eye for the dreamer then,
One eye, one dream too many.
Best you look behind again,
Before you don’t have any.
There may be those who think I’m just not that bright.
But I can find a door-frame in the dark,
I don’t need a light.
There’s no mail service here on any weekend day.
I know the letterbox is empty,
But I’ll go and check it anyway.
If the remote doesn’t work
I mash harder,
If there’s no food in fridge or in larder,
I’ll check two-dozen more times just to see,
If something appeared magically.
I can open those childproof caps,
But still the hot and cold taps
Confound me unless coloured or labelled,
Or why a tablespoon is not for the table.
And I still trust people,
I still open up my heart.
And I still can’t find myself
In the dark.
So you’re empty,
And you’re angry,
Once with hope
That’s now gone,
It’s been used.
Stole your believing,
So much doubt.
You let the world in,
Now a hollow thing.
Eaten from the inside out.
So you sit there,
And you don’t care,
They took so much more
Than you had in store
To be taken.
And the heart
You once had,
In this world,
I’m dressed to bitch, and
There’s an angry itch
Behind my eyes.
One that says I may be guilty
Of more than one demise.
Imagine their surprise
As I cut them down to size.
My verbal six-shooters hang in cross-draw,
Sights filed down, and furthermore,
With a quick-pull-trigger,
This mouth is set to go off.
‘You’d better run, better run,
Outrun my gun.’
I know you claim I’m gutless,
That I don’t say what’s on my mind,
But you just lack the mental wherewithal
To read between my lines.
Your attempts at clumsy sucker-punch
Text messages aimed at my head,
Will never vitate my ego much,
Without polysyllabic words instead.
I admit it may be perniferous,
To be consistently superfluous
With every transcription writ,
But no use of simplified language
Will make up for the F in your wit.
‘A rose by any other name
Would smell as sweet.’
My life, by another name,
Would still be incomplete.
But is this life?
Betrayal of self.
Exquisite waste of moments?
I idle and decay
The meadowlark laughed.
Her singular propensity for disregarding
Guilt and sorrow
Made me think of you.
Everyday is such a perfect day
To be down.
Especially days when you’re around.
I try to tolerate such intolerable intolerance,
Given the chance. The circumstance.
It’s not the end
Of the world,
But I still fall
For the straight girl.
“It’s for the best.”
“It’s only a cat.
“You don’t want him to suffer ”
Such are the platitudes intended to make it easier to murder my companion of twelve years. My best and only friend. The most gentle and pure soul I have ever encountered, and quite probably the only reason I’m still alive.
When he’s gone…I can’t begin to imagine..
Now I must hold him in my lap while he is murdered.
MURDERED! despite knowing it will end his suffering and it must be done.
I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.
I haven’t done anything else.
What good are windows?
The view stays the same:
Grey, grey days only promising rain.
One more sign I’ve lost control of my brain.
Perhaps I should say ‘I never really had it’.
It’s not as though you can reach out and grab it.
Trying too hard to do whatever it takes:
Deliberately remaking all my remade mistakes,
Never get to choose just which part of me breaks.
It’s like Tori and her ‘Little Earthquakes’:
“Doesn’t take much to rip us into pieces”.
“The monkeys have run out of chickens to fuck, and that’s why the world is the way it is. . .”.
– Beyond Wonderland.
Poems to resume at some random time in the unforeseable future. Because no one can see the future.
I don’t GO crazy, I AM crazy.
I just go normal from time to time.
The sun comes up, but you’re no longer here,
Just tangled up sheets and a pillow of tears.
Maybe I should thank you
For some madness in my morning,
At least it won’t be boring
I take comfort in my coffee cup,
Hide from feelings swirling up.
All that caffeinated sadness,
Barely holding back the madness.
If I could drink you down,
Would it make me drown
My life is a metaphor,
Analogies and nothing more.
No original thought,
Everything is store bought.
Which pieces are me?
What more can I be?
What else do I entail,
When my mind is retail ?
My life is a metaphor,
What good is it for?
Just recycled feelings.
Emotional fruit peelings.
My life’s a cliché
What more can I say?
I only care that I don’t care.
At least there’s some irony there.
All those times my English teacher
Critiqued my poetry,
Yet could never see,
That all along,
I was never writing poems.
I was righting wrongs.
Putting things inside my mind
Back where they belonged.
So if there’s nothing in my ‘poetry’,
That you can see..
There’s no standard meter,
Find in each it’s melody.
Note: Almost every poem posted so far contains a line ‘heavily inspired’ by a line or few words from a song.
This ‘line’ is the foundation for the rest of the poem, and usually the poems ‘meter’ is written to time / match the song the founding line is from.
Bonus points if you see them. If you reread the poem to fit the song, it will click.
‘Have faith, Alice, and everything will be alright in the end…’
Alice looked over her left shoulder, squinting into the setting sun as she briefly appraised the figure beside her on the ledge.
She looked back to the right. The train was still some distance off, and would slow as it reached this stop.
Her plan was to jump on top of it, as she has done many times, not in front of it.
But there was no need to tell the Angel that.
‘New, Huh?’, she asked, sliding down and leaning against the low wall.
There was still a few minutes to waste.
‘I am, yes, to your case at least, not to Guardianship.’ The melodic voice paused, then added ‘I have had quite a number of wards.’
Alice nodded, pulling out a toothpick and sucking on the end. She wasn’t sure what that was all about, but it looked badass on TV.
She got peppermint flavoured ones, cos if you’re gonna chew on a bit of wood, you might as well end up with fresh breath.
‘Had’. She said, ‘Where are they all now?’
She knew where they were, there was only one way a Guardian Angel took on a new ward.
‘Well, dead, naturally..’ The Angel started..
Alice laughed. ‘That’s reassuring’
She stood up and climbed back onto the outcrop of broken wall that allowed her access to this otherwise forbidden area overlooking the rails.
She was good at finding these sort of places.
‘What I mean is’, the Angel was fumbling to explain, ‘is that when a previous ward dies, even peacefully of old age, we are assigned a new ward to look after.’
The train was approaching the station, slowing down for its stop, to let passengers on and off.
‘That’s kind of like the deal I have’, Alice replied, turning around to face the Angel, her back to the now darkened sky. ‘I’ve had a few Guardian Angels, but they keep assigning me new ones’.
The hiss and clatter below signified the train was practically at a stand still. It wouldn’t stay that way long.
‘That’s unusual,’ the Angel frowned, ‘what happened to the previous ones?’.
Alice let the toothpick drop from her lip and flicked it deftly out of the air as it fell.
She’d spent forever practicing that move.
‘Some died. Most quit’, she said, touching her hand to her forehead in mock salute.
She stepped backwards, dropping off the ledge into the darkness below.
‘Oh dear’, murmured the Angel.
Scared and cold and dripping red,
A knife cut to the bone,
Something echoes in my head,
‘..don’t want to die alone..’
A gentle wind begins to stir
My Angel whispers low,
“Silly girl, you were always were,
You simply didn’t know.”
Her final words hang in the air
“Just like a glass that shatters,
You’ll always be beyond repair
In every way that matters. “
Each time you pass me in the hall
I find new depths to fall into,
When all I ever wanted was
Some kind of smile from you.
One meant just for me,
Have your eyes focus and see
Me standing there,
Red faced and feeling small.
I thought to go exploring,
Deep inside of me,
Hoping I might find the things
That cause such misery.
But what I found was certainly
No stately pleasure dome decreed,
No lands untold, or centre earth,
No, all I found was me.
And so myself and I spoke long,
And although I hoped we might,
We did not get along, but rather
Hated on first sight.
Myself confessed they hated me,
Despised me through and through.
I realised when I looked at me,
I hated myself too.
And so I’ll relate this little story,
Quite the handy alogory.
If spelunking in your mind,
Beware what you might find.
Sitting by the ocean with the break-up blues,
You’re in my head whatsoever I do.
You’re the irritating sand down inside my shoes,
You know I hate you, but I love you too.
I put my heart into a locket,
In an envelope inside my pocket.
Should I throw it in the ocean blue, or
Find someone else to give it to?
I don’t know why you always reside
Embedded in my mind.
A single grain that got inside,
That one that I can’t find.
You’re an irritation to my heart,
The sand that I can’t lose.
But I know a place that I can start,
I’ll empty out my shoes.
My life, the eponymous derailing train,
Out of control, and I’m feeling the same.
At least the wreck will be magnificent.
Read the news, see how it went,
My life in print, splashed across a page.
So unremarkable for someone my age,
She lived, she died, is what it will read.
The in-between is what I need.
So much time and room to grow,
I hope I do, before I go.
I’m standing on the shore,
Throwing rocks into the river,
Hoping I can hit a fish.
But I still have little more
Than I ever did before,
Other than wishing
On the wishing
Of a wish.
This place is feeling far too much
Like Kansas, or locales with such
Where is Toto when I need him?
Don’t want to be here anymore.
Where’s the Tornado or the Rabbit Hole
I’ve been longing for?
I cannot find my Wonderland,
Went and lost my Yellow Brick Road.
Threw myself into a mirror,
Just to have the glass explode.
Oh Neo! How I took the red pill,
In fact, I took them all.
Ended in the emergency ward,
Not in The Matrix at all.
I don’t want to be here,
For here hurts far too much,
Everything here is destroying me,
And I’m destroying all that I touch.
I long so, to leave this place,
To find somewhere else to go.
There’s this land that I’ve heard of once..
Something about a rainbow..
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Sits uneasily, bus seat perfunctory.
A lump of hard plastic.
Stares through the once was window, now just a diary of scratches and rage.
Watches uncertain possibilities of herself huddling around trash-can fires, scrounging through back alleys behind steaming food stores.
Standing staring back with vacant yet accusing eyes.
Sees herself in the cracks.
The could have been.
Might have been.
Hot and heavy tears,
Perhaps they fall for all the could-have-beens.
Perhaps they fall because I’m uncertain on which side of the glass I belong.
Hates the burden of this unwanted blame.
Unresolved guilt builds into anger.
Resents your unspoken accusations.
Sick with self-doubt about how true they may actually be.
Hates these imagined obligations of grief, twisted and embedded in my head.
All these not-so-very-unlikely possible, potential versions of me.
I hate them.
I hate you.
I hate myself.
I hate society, for making me feel as though I should constantly feel lucky.
Lucky to be as damaged and fucked up and empty as I really am.
Oh, so lucky.
‘And how are things with you these days, Alice?’, inquired The Cheshire Cat.
‘Well’, she answered, ‘You know that feeling when everything seems to be working out?
Your chickens have all come home to roost.
There’s a glorious sunrise, and finally, life is good’?
‘No’, replied The Cat, ‘ I can’t say that I do’.
‘Oh’, said Alice, thoughtfully, then after a little while, rather sadly, ‘Me neither’.
I pass through life
Unnoticed in dreary monotone.
Careless watercolour washes
Or perfectly placed impasto.
I wish for more than merely nothing,
Having been a sketch too many times.
How long since gentle hands
Knew well the contours of my face?
When last did we not kiss,
Rather drink of each others lips
The lingering taste of dew
And morning sun?
Too many days plus one,
Too many days plus one.
Please explain my existence,
Society, and it’s distance,
That only ever amplifies this
Self imposed resistance.
Decorating pillows with tears,
My armor but a quilt,
Alone, confused, helpless,
Masturbation and guilt.
I must have murdered an angel
In a previous life, now I atone,
Endlessly tortured and punished,
My brain is not my own,
Just constant echoes of darkness,
Alone, Alone, Alone.
This is the path I chose,
And here I am undone.
A clown without her clothes
In front of everyone.
Liar Liar Liar,
For closer to the fire,
What seemed like shining wings
Are melting waxen things.
‘As fake as a wedding cake’,
The Manson lyric goes.
I’ll be the slice left on the plate
That no-one ever chose.
Talks a lot
But says nothing.
Takes a lot
But never brings.
No more, no more,
I said before.
Yet here I write,
Part 1: Identifying The Pieces.
– – –
“To whom do I owe the biggest apology?
No one’s been crueler than I’ve been to me.
I’m sorry to myself,
My apologies begin here before everybody else.
I’m sorry to myself,
For treating me worse than I would anybody else.”
– Alanis Morissette / Sorry to Myself
And now for something completely diff…
well.. ok, pretty much the same
Express Elevator Down:
to Major Depressive Episode?
Don’t mind if I do.
“I am just going outside and may be some time.”
Feeling a little like…
‘Who cares if one more light goes out?
In a sky of a million stars
It flickers, flickers.
Who cares when someone’s time runs out?
If a moment is all we are,
We’re quicker, quicker.
Who cares if one more light goes out?’
-One More Light / Linkin Park
‘Please don’t go, I want you to stay,
I’m begging you, please, please don’t leave here.
I don’t want you to hate for all the hurt that you feel.
The world is just illusion trying to change you.
Being like you are, well, this is something else.
Who would comprehend?’
-Illusion / VNV Nation
A touch of unexplained joy
From that little extra stretch.
Crisp smooth lines
Of fabric untumbled,
Richness of hue and
Delight in a
Cast aside your sheets
But darkness leaks
Inside to out.
Always seeking night,
The weaker parts of me.
The cold air stings
Like a slap without sound.
Head thrown back,
I watch storm-clouds gather ’round.
Freezing wind whips over me,
I feel it through my shirt,
The pain it brings is welcoming,
No wounds, but still the hurt.
And I hear the rush
Of the breeze,
And the roar
Of the free-
Way beneath me.
Close my eyes, and I know
I could do it.
Just another one,
I could become,
I could become the delay
The commuters all hate,
Cos I ruined their day..
With my eyes closed.
Two days up,
Two weeks down.
Mixed episode, Mixed episode, lost count.
Three hours up, two down, two up,
Mixed episode again..
Two hours up, two days down..
Etc, etc, etc.
Rapid cycling is not given to record keeping.
Half a day up, 3 weeks down, 4 days up…
Blur. Blur. Blurrrrrrr.
Insanity, Insanity, Insane.
Smile Alice, we’re just getting started.
Sarah senses subtlties
In the flight of bumblebees,
Passing in the summer breeze
On their way to places she’s
Never seen and never sees,
Beyond the flowering trees.
My favourite colour is midnight,
Favourite time is soon,
My favourite song not written yet,
Alarm still set for Noon.
I quite like long beaches,
Just not walking along.
The time that I spend showering
Is the length of that favourite song.
I can’t stand cold showers
But love walking in the rain,
If there’s something I’ve never done before,
I’ll go and not do it again.
I’ve never seen a storm in a tea-cup,
Only tea-cups in a storm,
So I make sure to hold all my tea parties
Only when everything’s warm.
I’m party to tea at my tea party,
Where normally normal’s the norm,
And it’s cosier with a tea-cosy
‘Cos cosys keep everything warm,
And as we know about tea-cups,
The warmer ones keep away storms.
So that’s me in a nut-shell,
Where else would any nut be?
Will I live up to the low-down?
You’ll have to keep reading to see.
I used to have a dream.
I was on the cover of a magazine.
Now all I do I scream.
Doesn’t that seem..
Going up or down?
Country mouse or town?
Smile or a frown?
Heartbroken or clown?
Make a decision please,
Indecision brings unease.
You think I like to tease.
You will not contemplate
Angles that aren’t always straight,
You say lie, and lie some more,
Act as I did before.
Be an emotion whore.