Becomes a physical pain.
A knife in your chest,
A scream in your brain.
That pushes you down,
Drives you insane.
Again. Again. Again.
Becomes a physical pain.
A knife in your chest,
A scream in your brain.
That pushes you down,
Drives you insane.
Again. Again. Again.
I have been posting poems and prose here for a few years now, free for all to read, in the hopes that fellow sufferers might feel less isolated, or the general public might gain even a slightly deeper insight into depression / mental illness.
I tried, not always successfully, to keep it from getting too dark, and to provide some form of humour or message.
I pay the hosting fees etc gladly, and I don’t have / have never had: advertising, or prompts for likes, shares, reposts etc.
It has always just been for people to read as they like, and hopefully take something away, changed, from before they came here.
But now I would like to ask, if you read and like any of my work, now, or over the years, please consider a donation to LifeLine, one of Australia’s primary crisis and suicide prevention hotlines / chat organisations.
Despite their size, they are still under-staffed and under-funded.
They currently average one phone call every 30 seconds.
Their online chat staff have to chat with 4-5 people simultaneously to keep up with the numbers, and the wait time for online chat, even for highest risk rated, (from experience), is avg. 40-50 minutes before someone can respond.
If you have some spare change, or some not-spare change, and liked (or hated) or didn’t even read any of my work, please donate it to these guys and help save some lives.
And yes, happy? I’m one of those hypocritical bitches that has to have their sister suicide a month earlier before they post something like this, but there it is. Maybe if I’d posted something like this a year ago she’d still be alive… maybe. Maybe. Maybe this, maybe that. The fucking maybe’s and should haves could kill me if I wasn’t already dead inside.
Just fucking donate. please
Thanks, Xx , Alice.
To ensure your donation reaches the proper place, and not some dodgy re-directed link, please only use the donation link at the top of their official website: http://lifeline.org.au
Even if you don’t share this page or any poems, but share links, please share the shit out of that website link, on facebook or twitter, or whatever your poison may be, along with the request to please donate.
P.S. For long-term readers who respected my request not to follow / subscribe, thank you for giving me the space I needed. 💕
Due to..many.. changed circumstances, I am now inviting / allowing anyone who wishes to rejoin, or join, to do so if they desire, the ban is lifted.
I appreciate the consideration you have shown.
Can’t even speak cos
I’ve been screaming.
Voice is gone, but I’ve
Never found meaning
In anything seen on an iPhone screen,
Covered with tears,
Cos it’s too demeaning.
Elucidation, wish I was dreaming.
Wanna-be psychics claiming fusion
With The Universe but can’t converse
With Major Tom or his lonely soul,
Life beyond Mars, or a black hole,
Sad confusion, but just a delusion that
They are a Spiritual Ground Control.
But can you hear them Major Tom?
Can you hear them Major Tom?
Just when I thought
I’d seen it all through,
From the deepest hole
To the darkest blue,
Comes something new..
Now every type of wrong is amiss, and
There’s no fucking manual for this.
I’ve never felt this angry or empty before,
I want to tear down the world..
Then tear it some more.
I really don’t know
What might happen..
The best parts of me just died.
Tore the light down from the stars.
It’s so very hard to keep breathing,
Now my Second Heart has stopped beating.
Anything/everything delayed due to illness. Unsure when / if I’ll post again. Thanks for reading.
Taking a break
What a joke.
I’m not taking a break.
Eminently awkward in prosaic propensity, even explicit explanations end entwined in endless enigma.
I speak such phrases that resound in silver clarion within my eyes and mind, yet return to me merely distorted echoes of confusion and poor Chinese Whispers of misunderstood riddles.
I am a stranger in this world and speak no part of any language I encounter.
And I do not understand.
This is me, starting a conversation.
This is me, screaming in your face.
This is me, begging for help.
This is me, bleeding before you.
I stand on the edge of rooftops,
Far weaker than I hoped to be.
I long to lean a little farther,
Help gravity to set me free.
Because falling is like flying,
If you’re not afraid of dying.
To wonder if you’ll hear the sound
As your body greets the ground.
I wish I had embraced deeper connections
To pieces of my life. Rejecting the rejections.
I’ve always felt displaced, alone.
So now I’m leaving on my own.
The view is such, that departing seems a shame.
I’m feel sorry for myself, there is no one else to blame.
I think I understand now, what mortality is for,
Insight sets me free from the fear I felt before.
And now.. I start to understand
Why nothing ever goes to plan.
And I realise after all..
It’s my choice if I’m flying as I fall.
I stood upon mighty boulders by the sea,
Watching as the waves regarded them no less
Than another grain of sand in due time.
A universal ember, the Sun
Spins like a clock and having spun,
Measures the immeasurable.
And with the shifting of atoms,
Pressed upon by the weight of the universe,
My coffee grows colder.
They almost called them out again,
The police and searching teams.
To say Alice had gone missing,
Black T-shirt, blacker Jeans.
But this time they knew where she would be,
Though it’s been days since she’s come home.
She’d be somewhere in the graveyards,
Touching all the tombstones.
Wandering the cemeteries
Singing dirges to each stone.
Under light of stars, she tells
“It’s ok, you’re not alone.”
A gesture of reassurance,
By the gentle light of the moon.
Humming the song softly
‘It’s ok, I’m coming soon.’
I have seen alluring women in white
Anfractuous gowns, billowing on bridges in the breeze,
Standing stark against the night,
And I was afraid. Afraid of these.
Ever our obtuse disquietude of death
Has filled our mind like a crack, and in return,
In ignorance we have stained it black,
A symbol of our pitiful and vacuous lack
But would they witness what I have seen,
Deep within improbable realities of dream,
Death is not black, nor darkness, or night,
Death is women with eyes blue bright,
Standing on bridges
Dressed in white.
They whisper ‘run’,
But my lungs are filled with soil
From the grave I dig myself.
They tell me ‘breathe’,
Yet my feet find no purchase
In the lies that I have lain.
They snicker ‘who?’
As ever, I am nobody.
A soulless paucity of hope.
They leave, as do all.
Though I may speak,
If none shall listen,
Am rendered silent.
But all the rose gardens
Are black in my head.
But fraudulent and
Screaming with misconceptions.
It’s not the falling leaves
That break a heart or
Leaves the scar that
Breaks apart all
We came from;
What unseen things
Pulled off both our
With hints of fresh rain.
Gusting winds that bring
Promise of late summer storms.
Turn now, aging pages of
Beloved texts, ancient and bold.
Drink of their wisdom
With wide-eyed wonder.
Warm now, and safe
From dragons and thunder.
Can I forgive you?
Can I forget?
I do not know,
I can’t decide yet.
What you have done
Is terrible, true.
Though I have to admit
I don’t really know you.
What you took from me,
I can never let pass.
And I hate you when I see you
In my looking glass..
Too oft I walk alone and scared
In twilight forests shadowed grey.
But now I feel my venture shared
By unseen friends along the way.
And here and there a firefly,
All of which I thought had died,
Perished in the days gone by,
From all the tears I cried.
But now I see the tiny glows
Deep within the dark.
Where I thought but darkness grows
Therein lies a spark..
A delicate flower by a silver stream grew,
And it loved the dusk, the dawn and dew.
And it lived in the light of the sun as it shone,
Until one day it was trampled upon.
But it picked itself up, made its petals anew,
But over and over, got crushed by a shoe.
Each time it got up, it started to bristle,
Until one day, it turned into a thistle.
So mind how you step, and what you step upon,
Or you may find some gentleness gone
That you crushed out of a thing without any care,
And left instead, hate and bitterness there.
While recently repacking some boxes, I found another mostly forgotten journal/diary from some time ago.
I got it at a flea market in my mid-teens. Good, solid and unused, but with a bizarre handmade cover that wasn’t entirely green, nor entirely purple, rather a random patchy mixing / matching and merging of the two.
Perhaps it was someones ‘failed’ experiment at ink blending , using salt and other things, in the manner of watercolours.
It was without a doubt, one of the most horrifically ugly things I had ever seen, and I loved it instantly.
I bought it on the spot, and it was at the time, one of my favourite journals ever.
I called it my Greeple Diary ( GREEn/purPLE merged, obviously), (ok, so even back then I was no archetype of originality).
In the end, it was sadly under utilised, as I was reluctant to just fill it with mind-leak like my normal others.
There are however, a respectable number of poems in it over a range from mid to late teens perhaps even an odd addition from within the chaos that scattered my life a short time later.
I can’t say they are either my best pieces, still fairly naive, I was more comfortable with simplicity, yet neither are they my worst, especially in that light.
I read the following quote from part of a Tori Amos interview:
“I don’t think “negative emotions” is an accurate phrase.
Emotions are emotions. We can’t look at them as positive or negative, they are what they are. And they are your reality.
All you have on your plate is your reality. You decide whether you look at your reality or live pretending these feelings don’t exist.” -Tori Amos
Strangely similar yet so different from now, they were stilll my emotions and thoughts from that time. My reality.
And is very often the case, I agree with Tori..
They are what they, and to deny or avoid them is to deny or avoid that part of my life.
It’s kind of stupid if I do that because they may not have been perfect, for neither was/is my life.
So I will post.. most/some.. of them here over the next week(s) or so. As always, it’s your choice if you decide to menatlly ingest any of them.
I hope you.. if not necessary enjoy.. at least find something in some of them (and all/anything here) that leaves you somehow different to how you were before you started reading.
I was so sure..
Twist top, twist top.
There were the right words..
Little pill, little pill.
In my mind like bright birds..
Foil seal, foil seal.
Somehow all now..
Swallow down, swallow down.
I blaze discretely,
So they won’t see me.
Don’t wake the forest.
Don’t shake your tree.
Balance between needs.
Then in the end, oh, the end..
All I could be
Oh wild, wild horses.
The beauty of the untamed.
Yet hypomania undoes me again.
For halfshod, I
Ran my race too soon.
And he, whom I would have “see”,
Saw but the forest, and ne’er a tree.
Yet the fault was mine complete,
To think a King with time for winnowing
A peasants chaff in search of wheat.
The fragile tea-set of my heart
Fine, fractured fragments fall
Alongside carelessly crumbled cake.
The pot, now as cold as the day, is filled
With clouds blacker than any fine brew,
For the soil has long since swallowed the milk.
Chaos and disarray amongst
Tearstained, torn up table-cloths.
As always, never any time for tea.
-for my cat. the only good thing left 💔–
My hooman is leaky again. more than before, which I did not think possible.
(My hooman was already leaky a lot.)
it seems She is leaky from Her eyes Almost Always Now. are all hoomans so leaky?
Eats. Sleeps. Warms. these are Good Things.
maybe some hoomans too.
The Final Sleeps is not for worry. all breathers must Have their Final Sleeps, Some Time.
I worry she might run out of hooman jooces, so I generously Eats as many Treats as she tries to give me.
it seems to make her happy for a Short Time.
she Is worried about Me Having My Final Sleeps Soon.
I can feel It waiting, just like It has always waited, and will still wait until I Have It.
it is The Way Things Are.
it is The Way They Have Aways Been.
my hooman is finally having Sleeps.
I think I got an OK One, All Things Considered. I have Witnessed much worse hoomans.
I hope mine will be ok, I have looked after her All My Time Here.
what does my hooman call it ? ‘fortein yeers’
what is a ‘yeers’? silly hooman.
I will have Sleeps, Now, too. Some Time, Very Soon, I think, I will Have My Final Sleeps.
not Yet. but Soon.
Sleeps, hooman. try not to leak.
I’m sorry dear,
Your passport to humanity has expired,
Your access to society, retired.
You have a mental illness,
You’re no longer one of us.
Please leave through the side gate,
Try not to make a fuss.
We don’t care where you’re going,
Leave your dreams up on the shelf.
No one wants to know you,
So you’ll have to help yourself.
Say goodbye to all your colleagues,
Say goodbye to all your friends.
Your life may not be over,
But it’s somewhat like an end.
If you’re standing
You might hear me thinking,
If you will,
The sound of gears a-clinking.
If you’re standing
You might hear me sighing,
If you will,
The sound of wind a-crying.
And if you’re standing
You might hear my heart aching,
If you will,
The sound of glass a-breaking.
You know what’s worse than no hope?
A deeper dive, what could I do?
I dove so deep, I fell right through.
Found my Wonderland once more,
Drank the bottle, through the door.
Played croquet with The Queen,
Woke to find it but a dream.
Lay there still in my bed,
Off with my head, off with my head.
So many blues,
Even Cezzane could never choose,
Nor yet begin. Lies such within.
The endless, empty stain of sky
An uncaring wash of pastel hues.
Until I float no longer.
So much stronger,
Embraces like some dark prussian muse,
Mixing palettes like a bruise.
Drags me under. Draws me down,
Down into blue..
Until I am too.
Shall I adorn,
Gild and paint myself
Like some Egyptian Queen?
Dress in silk and gold,
Reciting rituals of old?
Peacock feathers fan my face,
Social bricks slide into place
Encasing me in stone.
Entombed in darkness, destiny alone.
I lie, unmoving.
My bed enfolding.
I hear questions and
Concern. I discern
Your demands of response for
Motion. I refrain.
Broken and uncaring,
A silent prisoner of myself.
I walk around the border
Of what my life could be,
But the detail is full of devils
Too large or small to see.
But the worst of devils, me.
The worst is always me.
Each tear falling
Is calling out in a decaying
To chime and glisten.
Each tear a drop of blood,
Each drop a candle flame
That burns away to leave your name..
I am afraid
Of a great many things.
They leave my face numb
Like a cold wind that stings.
That I may never gaze ‘pon
A Blue Monarchs’ wings,
Nor hear yet again
My muse when she sings.
Yes, I am afraid of so many things.
But one thing I’m not
Is what tomorrow shall bring.
Or the rope, my body to swing.
I want to move somewhere super cliché
Like Paris, NewYork or even L.A.
I want to find someone, so we can be together,
You know what they say about “being alone forever”.
Actually what DO they say about being alone forever?
I hope it’s something positive,
I hope it’s something clever.
I doubt it’s a saying about sunshine and fun,
It seems like it’s great, but it’s far too hot, for one.
Cos if you live where I live, you grow to hate the light.
If you live like I live, then you learn to love the night.
Too much light simply burns you up,
Yet I continue to try it all over again.
I never learned to learn my lesson, so
Just earn third degree pain.
Here comes the night, little darlin’,
Here comes the night…
And I say..
Victimised by being one’s own victim,
Daunted by theraputical dictum,
.. until one day, there was nothing left.
The second hand, so slow, it almost seems still,
Each tick is every day that ever was or ever will.
Tomorrow I will have lived beyond one thousand years,
Drowned ten thousand times in a hundred million tears.
Yet at the end, when forever has passed, and having passed,
I will cry again, because my life went by too fast.
The sunsets were beautiful,
You said you thought they were too.
You changed your mind, I don’t really know why.
Now all I have left are handfuls of uncertain sky.
An even deeper cut today.
It wasn’t me who held the knife,
I’m only bleeding on the inside.
Such is life.
Lost within my life,
Missing inside my mind.
They all keep trying to save me,
I guess they don’t know I’m crazy.
I yearn desperately for guidance,
Cessation of pain.
In my dreams I am drawn to bodies of water,
And it is always night.
The rising breeze is cool and fresh
As it the follows the flow of the river.
That’s when I see them.
Women, wearing white
Billowing on bridges.
knock knock Alice. .
Follow the white rabbit. . (done that)
Take the red or blue pill, actually take both, and a fuckload of others as well.
No, you’re still insane, but at least we got a laugh out of it.
The mainlines have been broken, everything made wi-fied,
While adults turned violent, and hospitalised children cried,
Trampled for a roll of toilet paper.
But that’s what humans do, right?
Accept and like it, don’t try to fight.
Thats what normal is.
You’re the crazy one for wanting out.
Drink to excess, abuse drugs,
Grab a weapon and join in the fray,
Becuase that’s what’s considered OK.
But if you try to leave on your own,
We’ll lock you up FOREVEVER
and pump you full of the equivalent
of a chemical lobotomy.
For your own good, of course.
Through watery eyes, I gaze
Upon a music box not to dance again.
Now a BlackSwan beyond repair,
I know not where, neither when
Such damage could accumulate,
Uncertain even instigate.
Simply that the time has passed, and far too late
For any chance to mend,
She lies broken ‘pon the floor,
No longer there to spin or sing.
Am I to blame? It’s hard to tell, Neuron mirroring.
Both with regrets and torn heart strings,
Musical no more.
How dare you?
Your inconsiderate butchery
Has cut the music from my throat.
How dare you?
Your pretentious thievery
Has stolen my sole possession.
HOW DARE YOU?
Claim innocence or play the victim.
There is no suspect beside yourself.
How. Dare. You?
Try to take my happiness and trust,
When I gave them to you freely so long ago?
For which I offer my soul, my heart,
Receive abuse that tears apart
The scraps of fabric left to me.
At least now I can truly see.
My bag of beans in the end,
Took my gold for mere pretend.
Days, like bags of pennies spent,
Left unsure where my life went.
You think you have time,
But unless you act, all you get
Is no change for your dime,
Only the sharp pain of regret.
If I could live my life over again,
I would still decline,
I think pain waits regardless when,
Within each frame of time.
When you reach the crossroads in the wood,
Take, or take not, ‘the road less travelled’,
But lest your life become unravelled,
Ensure that poem is understood.
‘Before you look at what you have in a negative light, remember that just because you were born, that doesn’t mean you were ever inherently ‘entitled’. Life doesn’t ‘owe’ you anything. In the end, extreme circumstance aside, you are in control of your life, even if it doesn’t seem like it at the time. You almost always have a choice, so don’t blame life if things aren’t how you want them. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, and realise the decisions have always been yours the whole time’- (paraphrased Dean Leysen)
I tore myself into tiny pieces for you.
So many different fragments,
I no longer knew which were me or what to do.
That was my choice, that was on me,
I never asked for anything returned,
But you just stood and smiled as I burned and burned, and burned.
I put up with so very much I found so very hard,
Never protested the abuse. Neglect. Misuse.
…until I saw your disregard.
You destroyed me once before,
And I still said I’d be there if you called.
And when you did, I dropped my life, and gave you it all.
I gave you our first time blindly, a germinating seed.
A second despite your note of things no-one should ever read.
So why do I feel so empty , knowing I have to say
There’s not enough left of me now
For your third chance to make me bleed that way.
Oh, thou wretched heart,
Ridden with angst as though
Worms within an apple.
If it were but a solitary fruit
My branch might bear the weight,
But the trunk is damaged and hollow,
The time to heal has come too late.
Your indifference doesn’t faze me,
Your hate won’t drive me crazy,
Can’t you see that it’s all peachy.?
‘Cos. I. Like. Me.
Well you know that’s a lie.
Maybe the biggest one of all.
The more I build myself up,
Simply the farther down to fall.
So put your distaste on the shelf,
I’ve finally learned to love myself…
Well you know that’s a lie.
Such a great distance apart,
Chosen amongst billions by intuition in my heart.
Within in a sea of lights, you shine down from on high,
Seemingly surrounded in such a crowed sky,
And yet, mayhap as lonely, perhaps lonelier than I.
Appearances suggest that you have many, many friends,
Yet light-years separate you all to universal ends.
Appearances can be so deceiving.
Shine, sentinel, shine,
Lest your life be dim as mine.
I have been awake forever,
Watching my life eke out
Every wretched second.
I lay sleeping in a coffin made of glass,
Waiting for a princess and a life
That shall never pass
We stand to stare
At a sky of stars we try to comprehend.
Our hands to share
A connection we can never comprehend.
A plan as a pair
While stars shine, to stay together ’til the end.
How many times can one heart burst?
How many stars are in the sky?
How many grains of sand on earth?
How many tears can one heart cry?
Maybe there’s a number. Maybe it’s plenty,
But what happens when that person is empty?
Do they cry endless tears? Do they even cry any?
For sometimes no tears at all, is, far, far worse than many.
I lay on my bed, hugging my pillow,
And the world is too much.
My head swims, and my heart aches
Without me knowing why.
I must seem ungrateful,
But I don’t want it, I don’t want it,
This world that is just too much.
Oh, but once I must have slain
Some time, fatuous and vain,
An Albatross, who now is lain
Around my neck,
And curses my existence.
That was your time to dance around the fire on the beach with friends.
And you missed it.
Hesitant. Unsure, so you resisted.
Now life has happened too soon.
And you missed it.
Sat and watched when you should have embraced it and kissed it.
And it hurts now, doesn’t it?
Amidst the chaos of our lives
Lies a stillness in which we break.
A moment beyond repair,
Of silence, pain, and despair.
Enfolded in loneliness,
At times, with sorrow so great,
Even our right to tears is taken.
Othertimes, with such an ache,
We hope not to awaken.
Each time around,
I can feel
The amphetamines fading,
And depression bearing down.
Torn muscles and careless cuts give hints
That I’m addicted to nicotine mints:
My chemical parachute
Made from an old torn sheet
Still can’t cushion the pain
From five straight days on my feet.
Some synthetic opiods please,
Simply a temporary ease,
And oh so maledictive,
Just give me a handgun.
“But I didn’t know that we
We could break a silver lining.
And I’m so sad.
Like a good book,
I can’t put this day back.”
-A Sorta Fairytale / Tori Amos
Nay, neither sleeping
Lay no white lilies,
My soul is tainted.
I have embraced
The greatest sin.
What once was light,
I would make dim.
Bright crimson ribbons,
See how they run,
Pretty red representations
Of what I have done.
Twisting like streamers,
Cheering me on.
It’s my personal parade..
Made with a scalpel and a #26 blade.
The whisper of willow leaves,
Wind winding through the trees,
Can’t do a thing to ease
Thoughts like a million bees
Inside my head.
Nine hundred thousand
Are things that you said,
One hundred thousand more,
To make sure that I bled.
Oh, my friend, I’ve broken it,
And I can’t seem to find,
Strength inside these shadows
Where nothing ever shines.
And what it is I’ve broken?
My life, my soul, my mind.
So, my friend, forgive me,
For not holding on,
There’s nothing left to cling to,
Or even stand upon,
When bad has outweighed good
For so very, very long.
And, my friend I’m sorry if
I can’t catch you if you fall.
It’s not that I won’t be there
To help you if you call,
It’s because I just won’t be
Anything at all.
I died again today
Within my soul.
I crawled into the darkness
Of my deepest hole.
There unmoving lay,
Let me fall
When I need support.
Judge me harshly
When I need it the least.
Leave me to suffer,
When all I need is someone
To say they understand.
Watch my guilt consume me
You have abandoned me
Without my forgiveness.
Wouldst though had a sword
So sharp as to sever me from myself,
For I cannot stand the tether
That binds this constant pain within.
Flit erratically … and
Thought from mind.
Mind from thoughts.
Reality from …?
and then The Dance.
I have found the fae-folk,
And they are angered.
My intrusion, unnatural,
I step forward, but cannot.
You may not cross the barrier
In such a manner, I am told.
Go back, Human,
Even Death does not want you.
So they say,
Will take longer to heal.
One of my hands may not again feel.
Who would know?
I hold so much blood
When it flowed,
Seeped down and dripped
To the kitchen below.
Then they know,
I was planning to go.
So much for my locks
They smashed in without knocks
I was white and death cold,
At least so I’m told,
As they struggled to hold me together.
They won’t let themselves know
I stopped fighting the flow
Of the rapids so many long years ago…
My hand didn’t slip from the branch
I let go.
I have split into pieces
Mind to discombombulate,
Unbeknownst to a soul mate
Rescursive cursive curses
Upon the ruins of my life.
Eat it whole,
Fucking fast food and finger diets,
Go on and fucking try it.
Nothing but the butt of a joke
I’ll never understand,
And everywhere, the silent man
In the long, black cloak.
Maybe that’s the joke,
And me, no more
Than a french-fry.
Dear Alice, I’m ‘fine’,
Hope this finds you in kind.
I’ve been writing some time
To you now, and I find you
Strange but the best friend of mine,
At least here in my mind.
Here inside of my mind, at least most the time.
Dear Alice, how are you?
If I am to stay true,
Then I have to confess
That I’m lonely and blue,
I don’t know what to do, but I couldn’t care less,
When the sky..The sky I swore would stay blue,
Is gangrenous in hue.
Dear Alice, I’m dying,
Lost and I’m crying,
No amount of applying
And I know that we swore..
Dear Alice, I love you,
But I hate your guts too.
I suture up in my room.
With some string and old glue,
But I’m confessing to you,
There’s not much left I can do.
Dear Alice, I forgot,
To tell you just what
You really want me to not.
I sliced completely through our promise knot,
Along with my flesh, veins and a lot
That when I cut it apart,
All those stitches and knots,
Can’t put Humpty back up on top.
Dear Alice, don’t you
Feel the very same too?
It’s not just things I go through,
But all the things , all the things, all the things I’ll not do.
So I’m cold. On the floor bleeding out
In so many different ways,
And every wound is deeply laid
By every single wasted day,
The thoughtless things that people say.
And I don’t want to stay, no, don’t want to stay.
Not like this, not here anyway.
Hope you’ll forgive me some day.
For rhythm, think Buddy Holly..
I admit it’s kinda neat,
Your smile makes my heart skip beats.
Inside, a heat we all mostly know,
Radiates a warmth and glow.
But there’s one thing that I since learned,
As least as far as you’re concerned,
This heart of mine is way past warm,
It’s completely burned and torn.
Well, I simply started smoking,
Just to stop myself from choking.
When I think you see me, but you never do,
I burn my way through a packet or two.
One good thing about fucking my lungs,
The chances increase that I’m dying young.
The sooner that I get to depart,
The sooner ends the pain in my heart.
If I’m to go by slow destruction,
Let it be from internal combustion,
Burn me up, burn me in,
I just don’t know where the flames begin.
Melody, do you see the stars tonight?
I want to say they shine only for you.
But we both believe in facts and science,
We know that simply isn’t true.
Melody, feel the breeze tonight?
Explainable, yet oft misunderstood?
I’d say it blew just for you my love,
And disbelieve in science if we could.
Melody, can you feel my heart pounding so?
I would swear that each beat is only for you,
And despite any proof of dispute in science,
Come to you, I’m not sure it’s untrue.
How much of my life
Was all in my mind?
When young, I thought it really mattered
That I reached school on time.
That the only path that I should heed
Was the one with straighest line.
Turns out, it didn’t really matter.
Just more control freak adult chitter chatter.
I could have learnt so much more alone,
Than listening to crap they refused to own.
We don’t need any double negative miseducation.
If we learn the same en masse across the nation.
Where are we then, when we reach the end?
Knowledge clones, diversly pretend.
Forced to sit for years in class or on a bus,
‘Cos they have no idea what else to do with us.
Conflicted and confused,
From double negatives too often used.
When really it’s all desperate youth control.
And it’s too high a toll.
When I break down and cry,
Hating life, want to die,
Don’t you see?
I don’t want your consolation,
I want you to agree.
I walk a thin line
Everyday, all the time,
Along that edge that you know.
But I can’t quite do it, I need you to push,
I just need one more reason to go.
Tell me I’m right,
That I’m sucking in light
From everyone else.
Confirm that I’m right about hating my life,
Because I can’t quite jump by myself.
Once, as but a small child can,
I went walking with my Gran,
Ancient then to youthful eyes,
Considered also, beyond wise,
Told me stories and wonderful lies.
‘Whence come all the flowers Gran?’
Picking handfuls as I ran.
‘They pop up where the raindrops fall,
Little drops, that’s why they’re small,
Such as gets more, grows more tall.’
“Then from whence the rain doth fall?
I spun around to see it all.
‘Whenever man is cruel to man,
The Angels fill a watering can
With tears in which they all shall cry,
Once full, they pour it from the sky,
Thus comes the rain.’
‘Can I not have such a can of my own?’
Wishing to see such flowers grown.
‘I hope not my dear, not any time soon,
Not ‘fore the grass grows over the moon.’
Tears a’plenty, broken hearts have bled,
Without need of the Angels Shed.
“Is there really such grass on the moon?
And are we visiting any time soon?
“Not you and I, so high in the sky,
But the grass is well into bloom,
With a wink of her eye, she pointed up high.
‘That’s why cows jump up with a spoon.’
You tore me down,
Said you hoped it hurt
As you left me bleeding in the dirt.
You took my soul, way back then,
But tonight I get it back again.
You said ‘one more chance’, and I agree,
You smile, assume you still know me.
You think you’ll do it again, or you’ll try,
But a new me rose up where the old one died.
You might not think I’m the type to plan,
But when the knife goes in you’ll understand.
Steaming water for my broken heart,
Scented soaps for salty tears.
I try to scrub it all away,
The memories and years.
Scour now, arms once which held you,
Attention, hands which may have touched.
Each part in turn desperately tried
To be cleansed and purified,
So I might finally forget.
But how to scrub clean a heart?
The most affected part.
Shall I cut it out or cry it?
It hurts enough for me to try
It either way.
I doubt there yet remains
Enough water in the world’s whole drains
To wash me free from you.
I’m a little bit slow I confess,
But I get there in the end,
And now I sadly realise that,
I was never anyone’s friend.
I was just the joke that they kept around
To pick themselves up
When they felt down.
Just call Alice.
When their life was feeling tragic,
When they were having a hard time,
They realised that their life was gold,
If compared to mine.
Just call Alice.
Stupidly I thought
My company was sought
For what I had inside,
Something in me that i brought.
But it was always lies,
I don’t know why I’m surpised
They called Alice.
I go walking in the rain to hide my tears,
Quite the cliche, but still,
A deluge against hot fears and chill,
It’s the only way I can stay standing,
Hate the cold, love the thrills, so
I learned to embrace all kinds of pills.
Sweet lies as they laugh,
‘Though for a second I feel well,
They are false promises by half,
That just bring darker hell.
I crawl into cracks,
Hiding from the doubt,
But I’m so fucking lost,
Am I crawling in or out?
Trembling, I tremble more.
Parts of space not seen before.
Stuck on the event horizon of my heart,
An endless fall into a deep black hole,
Major Tom, I’ve lost control.
I’vr become a total mess.
I ache more, I cry more. I become less.
I recall when I first heard it,
The terrible ‘OH’ from hell.
Inferred in a way, that they got I was gay,
But would rather eat their own spleen than to say.
I would have preferered some profanity,
At least it would fit with my sanity.
It happened not long into second year,
Mum asked ‘How was school today, dear?
Tons of cute guys in your year now, I bet!.’
I said that I hadn’t noticed one yet.
And then I replied, strength from anger inside, when
She asked was there someone I fancy?’
I said ‘yes. She’s perky and hot, tho’ she ain’t got a cock.
She’s blonde, and HER name is Nancy.
And she said ‘OH’..
I was at a club, dancing wild,
A guy came up, dipped and smiled,
He asked me if I’d like to dance,
I said thanks very much, but no.
Yet He assumed an arrogant stance,
But I stared him down with only a glance, said
There were things of disinterest to me in his pants.
I didn’t much care for construction cranes,
But I sure loved a sleek Lamborghini with brains.
And he said…’OH’..(dyke)
A party at Uni, my ride home was late,
I sat outside of the house just to wait,
But a charming guy joined me,
Started to chat,
So I said stop right there, please no more of that,
I’m firmly and lovingly ‘girl-parts’ attached.
He gave me a smile, he soon had to go,
But I should join him on the weekend,
Give ice-skating a go.
He winked, said he’d be there the whole day,
Ice-skating, you know,
With his lover, named Joe.
I said ‘OH’.
The flowers have all dried now,
And the stepping stones worn thin,
Still I love you so much
I don’t know where to begin.
You ask me if I’ll love you
When we are old and grey,
I smile and I kiss you
’cause there’s nothing more to say.
There’s an 80 year old lady
Who lives right next door,
And she dances the tango,
On the living room floor.
Her partner is long gone,
But her smile says not so,
That the music plays on,
Sweet and soft and slow.
The leaves fall for you,
My almost forgotten one.
But they tumble without reason,
Without motion or purpose.
The moonlight overtakes me, and
I have no recourse.
I have lost this race, but I feel
No remorse, surrendering myself gladly
To the empty endless night.
Flit through my unfettered mind and
The sky resonates with the sound of stars.
Silver spoons on silver jars.
And then the wind.
A gentle, flirtatious breeze
Disturbs the stillness with quiet audacity as
I watch you in a dress that I can see through,
Trying hard to catch a firefly, maybe two.
But no matter how fast or free you run,
You can’t catch a single one.
I breathe warm air into your hand,
And hold it still until they glowing, land.
And soon your hand is lit, and you hold it up to see.
‘How did you did you know that’s how the trap should be?’
I smile and I laugh. ‘’that’s how you caught me’.
I watch the people, and their
Greener sided fences.
I note their masks and their reflex defenses.
I move through life just being myself,
‘though I could be anyone. Anybody else.
I watch the people and their plastic smiles,
Their luxury sports cars driven less than five miles.
Armani suits, suited to suit them,
Or viewed through the right eyes, suiting their disguise.
And I wonder if they’re happy in their artificial lives.
I watch the people. I could mimic their movements,
Act out their gestures, smiles, plastic puppetry.
And I wonder if I’m happier inside self-misery.
‘Cos I could have it, have everything I see.
And all it would cost is me.
I might introduce myself,
If I knew who I was.
Maybe I’m that girl.
The one who sold the world.
I merely seek redemption,
No judgement at all.
As such I take the paintings
And the photos from the walls.
From the rooms and in the halls.
From the blood-free bathroom stalls.
Familiar mirrors to my eyes.
Of my eyes. No reprieve, only reprise.
Maybe I AM that girl
In those pictures that used to be
Hanging here, unseen.
An unexpected visit from out of state,
My parents, unannounced.
The day has me cringing
Like a mistreated dog,
Waiting for ‘those comments’.
But for once they never come.
They say they miss me, and leave,
I exhale, and breathe.
And then I cry as I curl into a ball.
Because just maybe
They don’t hate me after all.
I have a troubled mind,
Athough the trouble’s mine,
I find I always mind, mind the trouble, yeah.
I get angry,
Oh I get angry. and
I don’t know why it’s true, but, I get angry that I do.
And It’s not me, no,
At least, the one I used to be,
and, it’s not me, no, not the me that I’m trying to find, no..
Somebody help me, won’t
Somebody kill me, cos,
I have a troubled mind,
And everyday I find
My troubles spilling over
On to you, on to you.
At night the misty rain looks white,
Like powery ash in the cold street light.
I imagine it made from things people had,
Burned now to dust by a world gone mad.
As I walk through it, it brushes my skin,
Fills up my lungs as I breathe it all in.
Particles of people and things they would do,
And I wonder if I’ve inhaled anyone that I knew.
Spin now, leaves of yellowing red.
Your futile negotiations
With the wind would still have led
To every drop of blood you bled
From limb and limb and limb.
Dropped, discarded, forsaken, shed.
Wishing maybe they were mine instead.
Something always draws me back,
Though I’ll admit when I was wrong.
But try an understanding that
Sometimes I ‘m here, but my soul is gone.
Endless aching wears away
Far more than I can spare,
Lays raw my sensitivity,
‘Til I break down and lie, saying I don’t care.
I’ll hide behind glib arrogance and puns,
A child ‘neath her mother’s skirts,
You may be misled if you think i don’t care,
I care so fucking much it hurts.
And oft I am wont,
To see each struggling step-by-step
As progress in the grind,
‘Til in my ear, a whisper,
And laughter from behind:
‘Silly rabbit’ sayeth life,
‘Trix are for kids…’
Sometimes if I’m listening,
Awfully still, no sounds at all,
I can hear the faintest ding,
Of tiny bells behind the wall.
It must be mice’s bicycles,
Of this I’m fairly certain.
The sound it makes is quite distinct,
Down behind the skirting.
It moves around from here to there,
Wherever the mice bikes go,
Perhaps demanding right of way,
Or just saying hello.
They ride around at oddest hours,
To hide the sounds, I s’pose.
They like when folk are having showers,
Or when the lawn-mower goes.
My family and friends think I’m crazy,
They can’t ever hear a thing.
But I know it’s mice, awheeling away,
When I hear that tiny ding-ding!
Depression is a zombie,
It likes to eat my brains.
Bipolar is a station,
Mood swings are my trains.
My old self is a graveyard,
She lies beneath the stones.
Loneliness a winter chill,
Always in my bones.
My awkward elegance
Fails at the most undesirable moments.
A misspoken phrase is never alone.
Always accompanied by a room
Of suddenly silent witnesses
To the heat and hue flooding my face.
What can I say?
Everyday we’re getting closer.
Some like to jump the gun,
Trying hard, hard to be someone.
Others yet, wishing for much less,
Tend to leave a mess,
Against our won’t or will,
Everyday we’re getting
The world has made me
Oh thou melodious eloquent ode,
I mourn the death of thy lengthy meter.
I’m fast food. Take-Away.
Fit-it-in a single-frame-meme.
Ambiguous verbosity that draws
Gently upon thy wit to eke meaning?
“Ain’t nobody got time fo’ dat”.
Do you feel it?
When you are down,
Down inside yourself?
Those deeper dives.
The separation and fear.
This isn’t me!
All the while,
To every failing fragment.
The darkness of the void,
And the bright splintering light of insanity.
Feel that sickening
I’m not just a loser,
I’m a bad loser.
So don’t confuse her
I’ve been playing the same song
For so very, very long,
That I forgot my dream,
Sunlight, coffee and cream.
Now everything just feels wrong.
But there are still no bright halos here,
This gaslamp is unlit.
A long walk in darkness
Leaves these messages well writ.
Hair and life in tangles.
Hair and life a mess.
Hair and life darker than they should be.
Should buy a brush.
My mind’s become my enemy,
Playing all these tricks on me.
Is it now, before or after?
Each waking day I’m walking through
Makes each nightmare
Mixed up, used and self-abused,
My screaming sounds
Am I collapsing in, or
Wherefore, my happy-after?
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.
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 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 at 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 that every day, I’m OK.
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 alone,
Wasting time all on your own.
But if I waste my time with yours,
It no longer rains, it pours!
Running in the pouring rain,
Laughing like we’re both insane,
Wasting time, side by side,
The world has wonder multiplied.
All these things and more to do,
When wasted time is times by two,
So please let me waste all your time,
And I promise I’ll let you 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 my heart has broken 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, 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 seemingly 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 wouldn’t 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 she became me,
Or did I become her inside?
The hole was in my torso too,
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,
‘Cos what would Tori use?
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,
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
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 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 kind of messed up mental itch,
But if I scratch it ’til it don’t itch any more,
There’ll be chunks of greyish matter scattered all over the floor.
They say you’ll never love someone ‘til you learn to love yourself,
Well Catch 22, here’s a thought, let me share the wealth.
How can I learn to love myself, ’til I’m loved by someone else?
The lesson goes both ways, as most good lessons do,
And because everybody else hates me,
I’ve learned 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 simple 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.
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 at you through.
I can attend a family event,
I’m still quite able
To sit at a table,
Pretending to be me.
See the palette 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.
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.
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.
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.
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 vitiate 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.
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.
‘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 Chester, her 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,
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.
When the footsteps had faded,
The last box removed,
I sat and stared at the empty room,
For the only thing that you left me
Was your absence.
I try my best to be careful,
Pay attention to the what and the wherefore.
But there always comes a time,
When I colour outside of the line.
I try so hard just to fit in,
Do everything the world is expecting,
But now and then you’ll find,
Not everything written will rhyme.
I put so much effort and vanity,
Into pretending I still have my sanity,
But too often comes the time,
I colour totally outside of my mind.
I am small.
I fit, I fall, am lost
Between the unseen cracks
In those lives I long to touch.
I am small.
Breathe me in, or
Sweep me up.
You’ll never notice me, or
What I want most of all.
I am small.
Hello there Miss Mirror,
Don’t I see you crying?
Don’t I watch you dying
Day by day?
Well hey there Miss Mirror,
I cannot be fake with you,
I cannot help hating you
In every way.
I wish you dead Miss Mirror,
I want to smash your face in,
There’s no beauty I see within
I smile and pretend like I’m ok,
And everyone I know
Views me that way.
But my masks are made from stone and lead,
And I carry them all
Inside of my head.
I know there’s something wrong with me,
But I don’t know what, and
No one can see
The cuts that run across my skin,
Where my soul seeps out,
And the world creeps in.
I don’t know about this thing called life,
Seems like it’s just a metaphor
For suffering and strife.
I’ve tried to see the beauty others see,
But I’m really not so sure
This world is for me.
The things you said
Have left me stunned.
I wouldn’t say those words
But the knives go in
And blood will run,
For you were not
The only one.
The worst is not how
They cut to bone.
But the feeling now,
I’m all alone.
You’ve said things
You can’t take back,
Then ask me
To forgive you that.
You act as though
There’s nought amiss,
But I don’t know
How to deal with this.
You act as though
There’s nothing wrong,
But everything’s wrong.
‘You’re doing it again, Alice’.
The Caterpillar exhaled swirling purple smoke as he nodded solemnly.
And YOU’RE doing it again, Absolem’, said Alice, distractedly. Her board game, in which she was playing all four of the players, was coming to a critical stage, and she wasn’t entirely sure what any of the others of herself might do next.
‘Doing what?’, asked The Caterpillar, puzzled.
‘Precisely!’ She exclaimed, not entirely certain what her point had been, but quite confident she had scored on that round.
Absolem just puffed silently on his hookah, staring at her.
Alice concentrated fiercely on her game. However, she was so determined on ignoring him that she did nothing but ignore him, and consequently lost all track of her game.
Eventually the suspense became too great, and she threw down the pieces in exasperation.
‘Fine!’, she snapped , ‘what am I doing, apparently so amazingly well, that I don’t know I’m even doing It!?’
‘There’s much you can offer the world.’
Absolem was frustrated, and beginning to grow angry.
‘You have gifts, Alice, and you’re just….’
He paused, searching for the right words.
‘Fucking things up?’.
Her eyes watered and she rubbed at them angrily.
‘YES!’, snapped Absolem, his temper breaking.
‘Well I thought you would have expected it by now. Because I do that, you know….It’s..’
Alice’s voice finally cracked, and hot tears rolled down her cheek.
‘…It’s all I ever do’.
I’m not often given to crying,
I bear my grief stillborn inside.
In truth though, I’d be lying,
To lay claim to emotionless pride.
The genesis of these unauthorised tears
Is to look back over my life,
Regretting all of the wasted years
Spent fighting fictional chemical fears.
Not the existence I once had planned,
Trapped the entire time,
In a fake and broken Wonderland
Within my troubled mind.
The worst part isn’t when people think you have a mental illness.
It’s when they think you haven’t.
This illness becomes a definition
Of what I was. Who I am.
It cuts my vocals chords
One by one.
Leaves me stealing
Your unused whispers.
I have become the doll
Of a vindictive child,
Pulled into pieces.
My mistakes are in magnitudes,
I don’t expect platitudes,
But I guess I just have dumb luck.
Tho’ my BAE says I’m crazy as fuck,
She ain’t ever gonna give me up.
That’s gotta be the “half-full” cup.
The long, reticent night doth fill
To brim, its glass with winters’ chill.
Slow are the hours I yearn to kill,
As each crawls by, lie sleepless still.
You drew me a map,
Said that X marks the spot.
Underneath that cross was buried
Everything you’ve got.
You said it wasn’t much,
But if I took the time
To go and dig it up,
What was under there was mine.
Then you took a Sharpie marker,
And you pulled your shirt apart,
And you drew a big black cross
On the skin over your heart.
They said ‘don’t you talk to strangers’,
So I never spoke to anyone new.
And when I no longer knew myself,
I stopped talking to me too.
Lying foetal, shower floor,
Sorrow starts to drown me.
Emotions like the water pour,
Refuse to let me be.
Guilt, a humid scalding steam,
Swirls up, I choke and gasp.
Any hope, without the rope,
Slips from my shaking grasp.
I can’t stand this naked near my friends,
The worthlessness I feel.
Just a problem they can’t see,
Therefore nothing real.
So now broken bits of me
Lie on the bathroom floor.
Try to pick the pieces up,
Cut your fingers finding more.
At times the pieces gather,
And it seems that I’m complete,
But one look of disapproval
And I shatter at your feet..
Once, a shining angel fell,
Becoming ruler and lord of Hell.
Does such a fate await me then?
Damned to fall, and fall again.
Sentenced to hell on a different level,
What comes now, when falls a devil?
It is with great indifference that I write to inform you of the death of your soul.
You may, by now, have noticed feelings of hopelessness, loneliness, anxiety and similar sensations, to a persistent and overwhelming degree. This will be followed by the disconnection of all emotional utilities until further notice.
Nevermind, it’s not as though you were using it in the first place.
Hot tears on my face.
Thoughts of a better place.
Wrapped in the occasional blanket,
Knees pressed to chest,
Staring out the window, savoring
Slow sips from the ambiguous mug
Of dawns’ emotional duality.
I have shown my admiration
With this timely rising,
Flavored nonetheless by a profound
Distaste for such an hour.
I am ever
A child of the night.
Hues of dawn outline buildings and trees,
Splashing golden highlights in colors unique.
The city drags itself from
Begins to live.
I watch and sip as the world is made anew.
That is what you said.
Easier it seems, to leave,
Than just to make the bed.
Your suitcase sits in the hall, although
I know you packed it long ago.
Long enough at least, for us to fall
Is that the way it goes?
Mysteries of mice, and answers
In the wind that blows?
What do you think it’s for,
This life? Even God admitted,
She long ceased keeping score
You even had to take
All our favorite art.
Wasn’t it enough to simply
Uninstall my heart?
Now you’re gone, I try, I try
To find the reasons we said
For any worth that you may find.
For anything that comes to mind.
Laugh at me,
Be it mocking or from joy.
Play with me,
I’m but a broken toy.
Love me or Hate me,
Just do not disregard me..
I’m standing here frozen
Inside this party crowd,
Thinking all these things
I want to scream out loud.
Swallowing so many thoughts
Of which I’m not that proud.
Now I’m staring at you all
Staring at me,
Looking so hard at
A thing you just can’t see.
And I think
I shouldn’t think
What I think
What you think
The sky seems damaged,
Gifts me with icy tears.
Well I’ll admit, yeah,
I’m a little more than tipsy.
Took a handful of pills
With some single-malt whiskey.
Cos I don’t know anymore
What we’re on this planet for,
Why I’m bothering with sober
When my life feels like it’s over.
And the funny thing is, yeah,
The thing that gets to me,
No-one would even notice,
I’m the girl no one can see.
I could get stoned, get wasted,
Be tripping, shit-face-ed,
Makes no difference at all,
If I chose to make that call.
It doesn’t seem that far to fall
I don’t have a Porsche.
Languid, silver hued moonlight,
Natures’ finest brush.
Paints perfectly poetic, yet
Starkly contrasting contours
Of your movie poster mouth.
Bipolar came to visit me,
I begged her not to stay.
She said ‘come along, and you will see,
That I know the way.
I know the way,
Come with me,
We shall be
A mixed episode consumes me again,
Making me a force you cannot contain.
Hypomanic depression, painfully exquisite,
Takes me to places no one should visit.
There’s nothing you can say.
Just get out of my way.
I’m bitchy and nice,
Both at once, stir it twice.
Of everything in one shot!
I’m feeling hell that the devil ain’t got.
Somehow also like a saint.
Are there some flowers I can paint?
On the wall, or any place?
For a brush, I’ll use your face.
What a masterpiece!
Crazy duality refusing to cease.
Every misery exquisite.
Each sadness an exhibit.
Hypomanically heightened sense
Makes every nuance of depression intense.
Hypomania, depression and pain,
Should never be mixed up the same.
I don’t pretend.
Make it end.
Make it end.
We all know how I feel,
From this endless exposition.
Got a scar that just won’t heal,
And I’m looking at you.
Won’t you put me back together?
I’m no egg upon a wall,
But I sure know how to fall.
There’s just so many pieces,
But they all feel so wrong.
No wonder men and horses
Can’t put them back where they belong.
Cos I don’t know how.
No, I don’t know how.
I run into old friends
Who look shiny and new,
They ask me ‘damn, girl,
What’s the matter with you?’
I say ‘It’s done to me,
It’s not something I do,
“You would cry too,
If it happened to you.”
It’s my brain, and
Though I really don’t want to,
I’ll go high, (I don’t wanna),
I’ll go low, (I don’t wanna).
Synaptic strain has me feeling so blue.
I’ll go high, (I don’t want to),
I’ll go low, (I don’t want to).
“You would cry too,
If it happened to you.”‘
Bearer of petals no longer.
Seeker of sunlight,
Trapped without garden.
Empty without rain.
I wither in darkness,
Unable to grow.
And just like that,
The world destroyed her creativity and dreams,
Like an ice-pick lobotomy.
I lean against the station wall,
Tethered to a painful weariness.
This recent storm of your volatile emotions
Left my soul wet and cold,
Bruised deep within every atom.
I close my eyes.
Unwanted but not unexpected,
My mind replays the scene.
My confusion. Your shouts.
‘Jesus, Alice, you and your fucking metaphors!’
For some reason, I recall your eyes most clearly.
Flashing swirls of anger and shattered sanity.
But without my fucking metaphors,
No one could relate, nor understand me.
Assuming instead secretive flickers
Of mockery. Of stupidity or foolishness.
Not this, this multi-faceted tapestry
I try so hard to complete every day.
But they look at me as though they
Had just discovered coloured thread.
I build my wall
Of words and witticism.
Hiding from it all,
Afraid of the criticism.
Perhaps I prefer solitude
To your potential disdain.
Perhaps I prefer misery
To your complicated ambiguity.
Perhaps I prefer to stay broken
Than risk breaking again.
I wish I was surely
Drag me down,
Drag me down.
My face is numb, yet
I cannot cry.
Drag me down.
The ink stains of my eyes
Reflect my coffee coloured skies,
Drags me down.
Drags me down.
Hopelessness that I despise,
Yet every day reprise
Drags me down.
Ah, what bitter tears these?
That like acid, carve such sorrow
‘pon my face for all to see?
Witness in the way I walk,
The lack of my self-worth.
Then when I talk,
Hear inflection filled with vitriol,
Bitterness that takes its toll
On you, on me.
Censure prefers my stained and empty eyes.
No mystery remains inside,
It’s leaking now, seeping out
Through a crack I cannot hide.
So behold this pretty self pity poetry,
This cliché and uninspired hand.
The emptiness within
Isn’t that what tears are for?
AMAZING art by my idol Destiny Blue (find her on Instagram and DeviantArt. Amazing inspiration words by her also on DeviantArt. 💕
(we’re not worthy, we’re not worthy) Used without permission (sorry Destiny Blue, i didn’t know where to ask at the time this was posted).
You know when you’re sleeping,
And you know that you are dreaming,
But you still have this dream where
No-one can hear you screaming..?
Because I get this feeling
Nothing’s what it’s seeming..
I’m so numb, I can’t feel, or
Tell what’s real,
Or what I should believe in.
And now that I’m not dreaming,
My voice is hoarse,
For of course,
No-one can hear me screaming.
You’re murdering yourself
Inside dreams again, and
It breaks my heart.
My pillow drowns
In hot tears as
You thrash and die
A thousand times in my arms.
Another burning summers day
Yet through and through, I’m freezing.
The world belongs to shadows’ thrall,
The leaves fall out of season,
Like dark red drops of blood they fall,
And all the trees are bleeding.
Ground covered in bright disorder,
Yellow, orange, red,
Scatter now without border,
Mirror thoughts falling in my head.
Once I loved, and lived, had sorrow,
Joy, and everything between.
The truest line is one I’ll borrow:
‘My life has killed the dream I dreamed’.
These neglected vampyric lines,
An awkward symbiotic pain
Desires to be written,
Hungers to be read.
Demands from me
Everything you may consume.
All that I hold within.
Alas too oft
My ink grows thin.
I’m not sure whose finger is on the trigger,
But let’s pull it.
We both know I need the bullet,
We both know I want this all to end.
We know it’s pointless to pretend.
Oblivion, my only friend.
Death, a rotting corpse of us doth make,
No different thus to when as fools
We lived and thought we were awake.
How arrogant our daily toil,
Because we moving breathed and spake.
How easily this mortal coil
Leaves us to linger in its wake.
I’m in for a bad night tonight.
I’m both-feet first from the bipolar plane without a chute, and I’m pretty sure that I’m about to hit the ground hard.
I can’t pretend to write any more metaphorical poetry right now, can’t find the effort to put it into candy coated rhyming couplets.
Everything I would say is rife with clichés about torn up hearts and souls, and all embroidered with far, far too much wankery.
Anyone who’s been ‘here’ will understand:
Simultaneously flushed hot and cold.
Feeling so empty it’s almost alien, yet full to bursting with wanting to cry, freak out, and panic loudly from the emotional overload, only to find it’s always trapped helplessly inside.
Unable to sleep.
Wired but exhausted, unable to focus.
Wondering if maybe going through this again for one more cycle, one more DAY, is really worth it.
To be honest, I’m not sure why I’m bothering to post this.
The cynic in me says perhaps only 3 or 4 people will ever bother to read it, if I’m lucky.
I wouldn’t say that no one cares, but I can say from experience that no one cares twice.
You can ask continuously for help in a hundred ways in a hundred poems / posts and all you get are a couple of likes.
Right now, I’ve run out of ways to ask, especially when I’m not really sure what it is that I’m asking.
If I’m honest with myself, I suppose I post to affirm that I exist, right?
A thousand unread journals under the bed proves nothing, except perhaps, that it’s a large bed, or that they are rather small journals.
But to post online…’they’ say it’s there forever, in the web somewhere. Something I wrote, existing forever…well, for as long as the current form of the internet exists. Uploaded to The Matrix.
To have one person read it. To connect with it, to like it, or even to hate it entirely, is to create a human reaction to ME.
Just another drama queen right?
But I get it.
I read similar blogs. As similar as they get anyway.
So many cries for help, disguised as poems, stories, or conversations.
All wandering and winding around the topic.
Feeling it, but not unwrapping it. That gift under the tree that never gets fully revealed.
But what can I do, other than acknowledge, ‘you exist’.?
Life can hurt you quite a lot, so
Stand by your friends,
They’re all you’ve got…
Until they’re not.
I’m there whenever you need me,
Can I say the same for you?
You’re there when it suits you, and
We both know that it’s true.
I say no offense is meant, but
I’m through with convenient, and my
Is totally spent.
Today I hate everything.
Or would if I could care that much.
But all things die beneath my touch,
And now I’ve touched too much.
You say you like my darkness.
Those midnight madness parts of me,
The strongest of my threads.
Woven through and through,
The warp inside the tapestry
That weaves it’s wicked web.
You claim to love my darkness,
That it makes me who I am.
But although you see it every day,
You wouldn’t recognize my shadow,
Or know which hand I use.
We’ve been together for so long,
Lovers, and the closest of friends.
Maybe one day I’ll introduce myself.
Your digital dagger,
Your ego, and
Belief you matter.
Like so much playground chatter,
The forums, and
Become but noise,
As though raindrops patter
Every night, the stars shine less.
Slowly dying inside too, I guess.
Most people look but they can’t tell.
It’s a feeling I shouldn’t have to know so well.
When being a friend is a terrible sin,
And to be kind means you won’t fit in,
It’s a thing that can make you feel so low,
And in the darkness, I feel like letting go.
But every time, it doesn’t hurt as much,
As my soul deconstructs and loses touch.
I bought my ticket long ago,
And over and over I watch the show,
And though everyone sits and pretends,
We all know how it ends.
I don’t subscribe to a moonlight mentality,
Cast a single vote. One point for reality.
Her note said ‘don’t expect me anytime soon’.
She’d gone to town for breakfast. She’d be back by June.
Unfolded my heart and smoothed out the creases.
Tore it up. But kept the pieces.
She has a vertical instinct, for what it’s worth.
To me she may as well be the last girl on earth.
I’m kinda Monday, but try not to obsess.
The colour of my coffee reflects my darkness.
I keep my hands in my pockets, in case I clip her wings,
Held on with thumbtacks, they’re fragile things.
I’ve been chained to the starting-line for too many years,
Though these cogs might move if you wound up my gears.
I wonder how long she’s been gone for.
However long it was, it will always be more.
I count the used up coffee cups to see.
That loser in the gutter looks a lot like me.
After day seven, god had a rest
He felt pretty good, his work was the best.
The sun was amazing, saturn had rings,
But earth seem to lack just a couple of things.
So he made murder and mayhem…
Well you get the gist.
Then he made atheists
And ceased to exist.
Feelings of sorrow fell through me
Like leaves from a dying tree.
They gathered dust, settled low,
Smothered all that tried to grow.
They withered, crumble, dried,
As all the goodness inside died.
Until all that was left was pain and me,
Beneath my sorrow tree.
It’s not always gloom,
Not always dull grey,
But unseen, the effort
Made every day.
I build myself up,
Tear myself down.
Try to improve,
But still always drown.
Enduring this routine,
With every doc in town.
Living the dream,
So where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns..
‘Really Alice?.. Now?’
Her cat Chesters voice was admirably sarcastic, but that was nothing unusual.
‘Piece of cake Chest’, Alice beamed, holding the defunct headset and giving it a shake, as though the broken wiring might rattle loudly, just for the occasion.
‘All I have to do is take the casing to pieces, strip some wires, resolder the connection, and sure as cupcakes, these headphones will be back on me, mixing beats before it’s time for tea…again.’
She paused, sucking her lip thoughtfully.
‘Is it just me, or does it seem, more than less, on the larger part, that it’s almost always time for tea?’
Chester sighed. ‘ Then I’m sure you’re aware its already well after midnight?’
Alice nodded absently, turning the headset over. ‘There’s no accounting for the unexpected timing of a well brewed pot’.
He rolled his eyes, ‘You know quite well what I mean’.
She gestured in what she imagined to be a reassuring manner.
‘It’s a simple procedure….in theory..’
She eyed the headset suspiciously, as if her statement might suddenly cause it to act otherwise.
He said more firmly, ‘and you haven’t had even the slightest amount of sleep in over two days now, Alice.
Are you sure your judgement is sound?’
She put the headset back on the desk next to the wide array of mostly unnecessary tools.
‘I’m engaged, as is oft’ the case, in a conversation with a talking cat.’ replied Alice.
I’m not sure why you would have reason to suspect ANY of my mental acuity is even remotely sound’.
She picked up a small prybar and leaned over the plastic casing.
‘Just like a lobster at lunch’ she said, reaching out…
Chesters’ voice was quite stern.
‘You may, perhaps, recall, that’s an expensive headset you’re about to….pry out of it’s shell?’
‘Yes Ches. I know that.’
‘You may also recall, that your knowledge of electronics is entirely self discovered….
And you should well remember… what happened last time you attempted soldering..’
His tone was loaded with meaning.
She stared at him without expression.
‘I’m not sure I see your point.’ she said flatly.
The fire had been almost entirely an accident.
She pushed down with the prybar.
The headset split open at the seam with a rather satisfying “Crack”.
She shone the light into the cavity,
‘Look at those wires…
They’re REALLY THIN!’
Chester sighed again , sounding rather resigned.
‘It’s ok Ches’, I saw this once on a TV show….you always cut the blue wire.’
‘Or is it green ..?’
‘It’s a headset Alice, not a bomb’.
She grinned, reaching for a small screwdriver.
‘ Well then, there’s nothing to worry about….’
…. Half an hour later she made a contented noise, and put the reassembled set down onto the desk.
She looked at it warily.
‘Why do you suppose,’ Alice said to the now sleeping cat, ‘that there are always all these parts left over……?’
The logs were lashed poorly,
Surely you could see,
Yet you watched me set sail,
Fail and drift to sea.
Wave after wave after wave,
Trying to stay brave.
My raft is disintegrating,
I feel like capitulating.
Stop saying it gets better,
….my feet are getting wetter…
Summer fades into bygone days.
Days of errant memory.
Of weeks that claim
Not to be as bad as truth.
The trees embrace Autumn,
Changing and declaring change.
As the season slowly goes,
So too go people. Once friends.
Discarding promises of forever,
Leaving me abandoned.
It seems not only trees
Get Autumn Leaves.
“The knives in my apartment are only sharp enough to open envelopes with. I don’t need anything sharper. Otherwise, on bad days, it might easily occur to me that I could always go stand in the bathroom in front of the mirror and slit my throat. On such occasions it’s nice to have the added security of needing to go downstairs and borrow a decent knife from a neighbor.”
-Peter Høeg, Smilla’s Sense of Snow.
“The problem with suicide, when you talk about suicide, most of the people I’ve experienced say:
‘well, it doesn’t do any good, most of the people that talk about suicide just do it for attention’.
If that’s you, you can just eat all the dicks, then vomit them up, and then go fuck yourself with all those dicks.”
“You can’t physically escape your sadness. Your sadness is inside of you. To escape, you need to give your brain something to play with for a while until you can approach the issue with a healthier frame of mind.”
“The worst thing you can do when suffering from anxiety is to do a “relaxing” thing that just enables your mind to dwell and obsess more on the thing that’s bothering you”.
-merrybitchmas91 (Bored Panda)
I save up all my useless thoughts
Until there’s nowhere left to hide.
My mind is never as it ought,
It always rains inside.
The silence is surrounding,
I wait for the world to end.
The silence overwhelms me,
Becomes my only friend.
But friends are fickle things,
And rarely ever true,
Silence is especially so,
And damaging to you.
I made your morning coffee
The way I always do.
The rich aroma fills the kitchen,
And the heat of the mug burns into my palms.
But you don’t smile.
You don’t reach out and take the offered cup.
And I remember, just like paper tearing in two,
That you are gone.
The coffee is for the memory
That I can’t forget..
As grey clouds gather round,
The drops begin to tumble,
They make a soothing sound
As the sky begins to rumble.
But it’s warm in here beside you,
And I’ll snuggle in your sweater,
We’ll do what birds and bees do,
As the world outside gets wetter.
When all my tomorrows are just yesterdays,
And today is today is todays old replays,
And so many come, but nobody stays,
What then? Well what then?
When my thoughts are a filthy and fraying shoelace
That I should cut loose, and simply replace,
Except I’m afraid my shoes won’t stay in place,
What then? Oh what then?
If there’s no one to talk to, not even myself,
And I don’t have a thing cos i don’t have my health,
And my life keeps on stealing my spiritual wealth,
What then? So what then?
When the colour of sadness is always blood red,
And there’s somebody other than me in my head,
When I feel less alive and slightly more dead,
What then? What then?
Did I let go,
Or did the rope just break
Why did I think,
There wasn’t much further to fall?
For we haven’t stopped.
But I still don’t know
As the rope frayed and parted,
Which end I was holding.
I say I’m wrong just to agree with myself,
Make up my mind then consider the doubts,
I’d start to worry about my mental health,
Except by now I’m somebody else,
And I’m having a wonderful time.
Wish I was here.
Leave me alone so I can clear my mind,
It’s not you baby, it’s the things outside.
Distractions making my peace harder to find.
In this world there’s just nowhere to hide.
And I’m having a wonderful time,
I wish I was here.
My mind’s made up like a badly kept bed,
Sheets and pillows tangled up in my head,
But it’s starting to feel a little like fear,
And I wish I was here.
Need more time so I can waste it,
Working out if I’ve a place in this.
Things turned sour, and now I can taste it, but
I’ve had enough sitting prone and complacent.
I’ve had wonderful time,
Just wish I’d been here.
‘Cos my mind’s made up like a badly kept bed,
All the blankets wrapped around in my head.
Now it’s starting to feel a lot like fear,
And I wish I was here?
I was drowning inside of my mind.
Didn’t see the ‘no swimming’ sign,
But you came by and threw me a line,
Now I’m out, and pretending I’m fine.
Having a wonderful time.
I think I’m here.
I can no longer call you ‘My Love’,
Or even ‘My Best Friend’.
So I just call you by your name,
And this is how we end.
‘Well you see, Sir.’
Alice began hesitantly.
‘I needed to speak to someone, about..Oh, a great many things!
I considered everyone I knew, and how they might be able to help me, and in the end, I believe you are certainly the right person for the job,
especially considering your enormous expertise in helping many troubled souls through difficult times’.
Alice paused, and looked over to see how her speech had been received.
The scruffy old teddy bear stared silently through its one remaining eye.
‘I see’. She said thoughtfully. ‘I guess you couldn’t relate as much in any case, what with client… congenitality.. ..confence-idality.. ..that thing.., anyhow’.
She shifted on her chair nervously for many long moments, waiting, under the relentless stare of the black, bleak eye.
‘Alright!’, she finally shrieked, the teacup and plate going over her head, destined to land in locations unknown.
‘I stole the tarts!.’
The bear remained silent. After several long moments, in which, quite distinctly, nothing happened, Alice recomposed herself with as much dignity as she could muster, cleared her throat, and returned her attention to the bear.
She finally confided, ‘Though whatever I’m to do now, without any expert advice, I really don’t know! You were my last and only hope!’
A quiet voice came from down near her elbow.
‘No. There is another..’
Alice looked down to see DorMouse standing beside her.
‘Don’t you start’.
But she smiled anyway.
What have thou wrought?
I had thought but wings.
Yet here I find
My heart and mind
Are also waxen things.
And when she goes,
So goes too,
Parts of you you never knew.
I hope you speak to me real soon.
Hope you come out from your room,
Last time we did this,
We came so very close to broken.
Counting the days now,
Maybe the minutes since we’ve spoken.
Because I don’t want Us
To go and break Us.
We could shake this off.
How did we hate Us?
How did we end thus?
Now all around is just
Space to be apart.
Our togetherness cuts
Bleeding ruins of our heart.
I hope we find Us,
I hope we fix Us,
I just want ‘us’,
Always to be ‘Us’,
Despondency came calling,
Seems to me it plans on staying.
In the company of loved ones,
You might get what I’m saying,
When I’m wearing headphones
With no music playing.
I hope they’ll forgive me
If I’m not around for a while,
My mind’s gone on vacation, left
A body with a plastic smile.
I hear all this talk about having a soul,
Not sure what it’s all about, but
Maybe that’s what is supposed to be
I’m an invisible girl, look at me!
That’s kind of ironic, don’t you agree?
Though you only see me when you want to,
I think there’s a word for that: ignorable.
I’m an ignorable girl, just choose if you see.
That’s kind of heartbreaking, don’t you agree?
Choose me, use me, attention abuse me,
Every day wakes with regret,
Anxiety, panic, and tears,
But I’m still here.
A handful of pills
Survives the afternoon.
Night can never come too soon.
In my mind, I
Have died ten thousand times.
What’s once more?
Inside my lonely darkness
Lies the dream of a soft
Sad sister to a candle.
It flickers alot, and
Does not handle
Winds of change.
Compared to bright and brilliant
Social lights and flaring neon sign,
It seems small.
Fading, from the moment lit,
In darkness tries
To find her place in it.
You left for the last time,
Taking everything that matters.
But you left the weight
Of an entire empty universe
Crushing my chest.
I could stare for endless moments
At fallen crystalline wonder.
A diminutive drop of nature’s boast,
Reflecting and refracting.
A miniature masterpiece,
Slowly sliding along chaotic
Sway and flutter of a breeze blown leaf.
I look at this droplet and cry.
Raw and wracking sobs that shake
The very core of me.
For I am chaos, and I am ruin.
I will never feel within myself
The calmness of this perfect thing.
Complete and simple.
Oh hey, don’t mind me, I’m ‘just rude’.
My crippling depression, ‘just a mood’.
Hypomanic self-destruction is my food.
Socially withdrawn? ‘Bad attitude’.
Well if I told you to ‘get fucked’,
Would that be crude?
Then let’s get crude,
Let’s get crude.
I am a shiny new smart-phone.
You were my re-charger.
I can no longer function
You didn’t believe me,
When I said I’d meet you
At that spot.
But there I was
Standing in the rain.
You called me insane.
Then you smiled.
I came upon a strange loose-end
Within my favorite sweater.
As I pulled upon the thread,
I started to feel better.
Row after row, the cord unraveled,
Over and under my body it traveled.
As the colors of yarn grew brighter,
The chains ‘pon my soul grew lighter.
I cut the last knot, nimble and deft,
Only to find there was none of me left.
Alice hummed happily, sketching away on her notebook.
She had met nice new people, and was enjoying making art.
She thought it was nice to be happy for a change.
The thought paralyzed her.
Ice flooded through her veins, and a shadow loomed above her.
“That’s right Alice, you forgot the rules”, came a voice.
“No”, begged Alice, “I wasn’t, I mean, I was, but just a little bit, and I thought maybe…”
“THERE IS NO HAPPINESS ALLOWED HERE”, the shadow hissed at her .
“THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES”.
“No, please, I don’t want to, not again “..
The infinitely black hands reached down inside her, finding all the small fragments of joy that had begun to form, and casually tore them apart.
Overwhelmed by pain and sadness, Alice barely noticed as she was lifted like a rag doll and cast into The Hole of Shadows.
“WHAT GOES UP, MUST GO DOWN, ALICE”.
She fell forever…
Falling endlessly downward, Alice didn’t know which of them had whispered the words…
I guess you missed the sign on my forehead,
The one that says I’m a loser.
You shouldn’t be over here talking to me,
I’m told I’m a life abuser.
Narcissistic, arrogant, selfish.
I’ve really been put in my place.
Shallow, worthless and stupid,
I’m told I’m a waste of space.
Why do I go on living this way?
I should stop wasting everyone’s air,
No one would miss me if I were to go,
I’m told that no-one would care.
Who is it that tells me these things?
Why it’s me, myself, of course.
A little self education
Is simply par for the course.
You said you needed change,
Something different to do.
So you left me behind
As you set out to find
Something completely new.
But you still brush your hair,
Still breathe the air
Like I do.
You still count to one,
Still see mornings’ sun
The way I do.
And I wonder, where you wander,
If you ever ponder
What I do..
So many prayers left unfulfilled.
Who said you could discover love
In the castles that you build
With only sand?
Never seeming to understand
The difference twixt
Sea and land.
No matter however carefully planned,
The constructs of your heart will never withstand
The relentless jealousy of water.
Am I in love with sadness?
So broken and so
Coffee and a little
To bring me down.
Turned up so loud,
Entwined with sound.
Take me high or
Bring me down.
Normal is for amateurs.
Give me just a little push,
For I stand poised
Upon the razors edge
And I long to know which way
May I not look into myself
I’m not where I wished to be
At this particular time?
Why always try to
Invalidate my self-disappointment, or
Disregard my undirected rage?
My introspective deconstruction
Is my valid cage.
My right to hate myself,
How dare you say I mustn’t,
When I must, I must.
“Nothing’s sad until it’s over.
Then everything is.”
Afraid of climbing further
Out along that limb?
They’re burning eBooks
Now, down below, my friend.
Anything can be something
The night sky clings.
Plastic wrap to
So little left
Is this a darkness that you know?
One that covers you like graveyard soil
And says ‘You May Not’.
All those dreams sworn never to forget,
Buried deep in a coffin,
And not done yet.
Or the loss of hope that twists inside
When you finally understand:
You’ll never be any of those things
You had planned?
All of this.
All of this and more.
A darkness in which you wonder..
What you’re even alive for.
She never sleeps or seems to cry,
Just sits and watches flowers die.
Patterns on footpaths, drawn in chalk,
Heedless of those who try to walk
On by or stop to gawk.
Prefers to do it in the rain,
Considered to be quite insane,
But they can’t ever see the pain
That fills her over and over again.
And she hates the sun,
Wet chalk is best,
Better to express the mess
She burns with need just to confess
to uncaring pavement.
And though she’s out there every day
No one knows where she goes or stays.
Even when she’s home in bed,
She’s not there, she’s in her head.
And they can’t understand
Why she laughs for no reason,
Or screams in their face
How her soul is bleeding.
Packets of chalk, notebooks of sorrow,
No tomorrow, no tomorrow.
She agrees that it’s no jest,
Dreams of dying are the best.
She sits amongst the dying leaves,
Looking for something to hold,
As she mourns in grief
Her loss of belief in all things she was told.
In the fairytale all about,
How in the end, things work out.
There was a time she didn’t doubt,
But innocently believe,
Now runs her fingers over the scars
That such untruths can leave.
Crushes dead sticks into pieces,
Hoping that the act releases
But feels nothing.
Takes her chalk and draws a ring,
Pretending it’s a solid thing,
Letting nothing out or in,
And lies inside it sobbing.
Regrets how hard she ever tried,
Now her trust has gone and died
Alongside her belief and pride,
That she was to be something.
Now is nothing.
Almost midnight, a sliver of moon,
And a thunderstorm approaching soon.
Yet on the pavement Alice sits,
Chalk now smashed to dust and bits,
The outline she drew, a perfect fit,
For a murder scene and her place in it.
All she need do is just lie down
In the corpse outline
On the frozen ground,
And fall into slumber without a sound,
Until in the morning, finally found,
Her body and spirit no longer bound.
‘It isn’t so much as what it never was’, said Alice, awkwardly attempting to adopt a stance and tone of voice approximating what she imagined a university professor might assume. ‘But rather, what it wasn’t ever in the first place’.
She paused, trying to follow her own thoughts.
‘For example’, she attempted to clarify.
‘If you break this tea cup..’
She picked up the nearby object and dropped it to the ground, adding a small flourish for effect, but it merely bounced, several times, then rolled to a stop, defiantly intact.
She glared at the offender, then stomped on it furiously until it was only small pieces.
“Like so..”, She announced.
‘You not only destroy the many cups of tea it might have been, but also the many cups of tea it never was.’
‘Aren’t those the same thing?’, asked the Dormouse, who was the only one really paying attention.
Alice frowned, not entirely certain, but unwilling to appear wrong at this point, drew herself up importantly.
‘Decidedly not!’ She declared.
My scream is unending, violent and weighed down by desperation.
Vocal chords stripped raw, and my head and my heart, not designed for such things, demand from me a heavy toll.
That my scream is so high pitched, elevated by emotions I can no longer describe, that no one can hear me.
Just wind in the wind, another bullet with butterfly wings.
For the life I never lived. Cannot live. Will never live.
For the wonder of love and loss, of amazing joy and sorrow, that I will never have.
Not because I am not who I wanted to be,
But because I am someone that I wanted to never be.
Someone I wouldn’t want anyone to be.
Because I am too weak to bear it in silence.
Because I am too weak to bear it at all.
Sick, cruel, mocking laughter, at the biggest joke of all: Myself.
They say if you don’t laugh, you cry.
I’m doing both..
I lie in shadows,
Bleeding away my happiness.
A filthy unwashed gutter
Too worthy a bed.
Such painful sanity,
And terrifying awareness
Rip recursive holes in my mind.
I scream inside
And cannot stop,
Each breath between
I tear out my self and soul
With bloody violence.
I don’t want them,
I despise them.
They might be me,
Or just something to destroy.
And I knew,
Oh god I knew
The emptiness within.
Broken bottles and rusting cans.
If I could cut myself to pieces
With these poor tools,
Would I still remain
A dark stain
On the world?
Riding the low wave,
I am less than myself.
Attempts to find reason
Unfold my ever diminishing mind.
The view of the abyss
Finds me sick,
Leaves me sicker.
Emotionally drained, and I can’t feel my face,
But I can feel the beating I gave myself again.
Every emotional punch
So savage and well aimed,
Surprising no hard bruises remain.
Nobody hates me like I do,
I hate the part that hates me too.
All the mistakes that I can see
In everything I try to be,
Send me further under, and
Tear my heart asunder.
Cut lily. Cut rose.
Dead but hardly knows.
Dead but barely shows.
And the time it took
I can’t say that I feel lost,
For as the Cheshire Cat would know,
That would all depend on where I wanted to go.
Seeing how I don’t,
We could always ask The Hatter,
Because if I am truly lost, the answer doesn’t matter.
As long as there is cake,
Because we’re all mad here.
Such indescribable delight,
When sound and subtle petrichor
Anounce outside of window and door,
Rainfall decorating dust.
You gave me a lengthy look,
And then you took
But hey, that’s OK.
Then before I knew, I fell,
And you showed me hell,
And that was ok too.
One or the other, I’ll acclimatize.
Learn to balance, to be wise,
But only one.
I never know, if I’ll stay or when I’ll go.
Tied to this piece of string
Of a child,
Whose temperament goes wild.
Unable to control
My yoyo. So,
I never know, when I’ll stay or if I’ll go
Up or Down.
And bouncing in between,
Never finding my feet,
Is a sickening carnival ride
That’s strangely incomplete.
So very unbalanced inside.
To have one or the other,
Or sometimes both: confusing.
Too much emotional bruising.
The reverse of a junkie
Wanting their next fix.
Not me, no, no, not me,
I don’t want, I don’t want,
I don’t want it.
What if I find that I just can’t take,
I can’t stand any more and I finally break?
My mind to my Wonderland then take,
Put a ‘vacancy’ sign on my forehead,
Sit by the marshmallow lake.
Well we always knew I was crazy,
It was never a question of maybe.
Now all they ever ask of me:
“At this very moment, what is she?”
Where art thou Morpheus?
I seek Lethe and no other.
Protection from Thanatos
Rivers five, so similar,
I may confuse
And in my earnest haste for
Poorly to my dismay.
So for the briefest moment,
Guide my way.
Clutch’d tight is my
Fare for the ferryman….
Just like that,
Lost amongst the names,
Labels, and designations,
Unable to tell which parts
Of herself were herself,
She snapped her pencil in two.
And like the pencil,
Broke in half her sanity,
Ability to care.
I’m riding my old bike again.
It was only a matter of time I suppose.
I ride it around every place that I go,
Sometimes quite quickly, other times slow,
And it’s hard to get up those steep hills don’t you know,
But when I go down, just look at me go.
Yeah, rapid cycling.
Don’t you think it’s strange
How we shift, change, rearrange,
Everything we can, but stay the same?
How each of us ourselves behoove
To grow, move, further improve,
Strive and strive, yet we never arrive.
We tell ourselves that all our pain
Is part of life, to strain and gain,
How accepting we all are.
Before we grow too old,
Grow cold, end stuck in a mold,
Are we able to break free?
Well to show you that I can:
I just rhymed carrot
a creative writing exercise..
‘Do you suppose, Ches, that sometimes fish are people too?’
Alice threw another apple into the pond, gazing absently at the resulting microcosm of radiating waves.
She looked over at the Cat, who had been asleep underneath a nearby tree for most of the afternoon.
‘And they say there’s no such thing as a stupid question..’, Chester yawned lazily, before promptly returning to what appeared to be an attempt to sleep soundly through the entire day.
Alice shrugged. It didn’t matter if no one was listening.
Picking up a nearby apple, she nibbled it as she continued her thought.
‘What I mean to say is…’, she said ‘do you wonder if fish sometimes wish to be someone else?’
‘It seems normal, when feeling awfully rotten, to wish you were somewhere else, or rather, some one else. For me anyway.’
She scrunched up her face as the strong memory of doing just such a thing swept over her..
‘But.. If I were somewhere else, I would still be myself, simply in a different place, and well, I don’t think that’s the problem in this case. As they say, wherever you go, there you are.’
She eyed the apple she was holding, inspecting it for rot, before hurling it violently into the pond, where it floated, bobbing about with the others.
‘So if I were to be someone else, I would most likely be somewhere else as well, otherwise there wouldn’t be much room where I am standing.’
She looked down thoughtfully, then took a step to the side, just in case.
‘Two pigeons on the other side of the fence’. She laid a finger alongside her nose knowingly.
‘That being the case, if I were to be someone else, it wouldn’t be very long before that someone was me anyway.’ She counted on her fingers, trying to work out how to calculate ‘instantaneously’.
‘Not veryyyy long, anyhow’. She scratched her nose.
‘And me, myself, as someone else, would, with my luck, be just as unhappy and just as likely to be someone who wishes they were someone else as well!
No, that just won’t do’.
She cast her eye over the fallen fruit, looking for a likely candidate.
‘I suppose, when you look at it contrarywise , it’s more a case of wishing not to be myself, or be anyone really, rather than wanting to be another me.
Is it such a preposterous proposition to ponder that a fish may well wish to be other than its own woeful watery self?’
She gathered a few of the ripest apples on offer.
“To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core…’, she quoted absently.
‘What if EVERYONE EVERYWHERE feels this way!?’. She her eyes unfocused, and she felt almost insulted by the notion.
‘What if all this time, not a soul has been happy being themselves, and JUST PRETENDING!’.
She stamped her foot! To imagine! The sheer nerve of them!
Her brow furrowed, she was down to the mystery now.
So…everyone that smiles, and says ‘as you please’, and tells you to behave, and not to rub apricot jam on your baby brother, why they just did it so that…that..so that you’d do the same!
She knew it!
‘It’s all a cabin-ski’ She announced uncertainty.
‘Regardless, if no one wants to be themselves, and it seems I was right about that, and everyone is all full up anyhow, no vacancies, then what am I to do’?
Alice sank to the ground and buried her hands in the cool soil, surrounded by apple trees and the buzzing of industrious bees.
‘I can’t stand it, Chest’, her voice was barely a whisper. ‘The endless…me’.
Nothing is here that wants to be here. Nothing should be here.
I’m not particularly fond of anything I find, inside or out.
The world is like a washed out water painting, and the only things that bear upon me to take notice, oh, they hurt, Cat, they hurt so much’.
She blinked, then laughed, a bleeding, savage laugh.
‘I can’t even cry. There’s not even that now!’
She got up, two ripening weapons of choice in hand, and walked towards the pond.
‘I’m stuck inside myself, with nothing, not even hate! And surrounded by liars and fakers’.
‘HATE! FAKERS! LIARS!’
Then, ‘SPINACH!’, just for good measure.
She spun furiously, sliding the apple at the water, imagining it to be a rock that would smash into the surface.
‘Splosh’. It somewhat anticlimactically joined the rest.
Alice stood on the edge of the water, and stared at the moving trails of light sliding over the deep water.
She swayed slightly as she recited;
“…Like as the waves make towards the pebb’d shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before..”
‘Can’t be me. Can’t be not-me. Why be anything at all?’, Alice muttered to herself, mezmerized by the water.
”Oh Alice, look what you’ve done!”, they’ll say, and take my things away again…They took that mirror away soon enough, after things got bloody, but I kept telling them, it was HER, not me’.
‘I should just throw myself into the pond!’, she DECLARED,
‘Better to be nothing on purpose than nothing because of some STUPID COSMIC JOKE’, she shrieked!
She stared at the water, watching as it rocked gently back and forth, thinking it seemed calm and deep, somewhere she could sleep.
‘Well, on second thought’, she said, biting into her apple.
‘I’d better not disturb the fish. You never know if fish might be people too’.
When I was quite young,
Only a pup,
People would ask me
When I grew up,
What would I be?
Where would I go?
I had an idea,
Didn’t quite know.
But it wasn’t this.
It was never this.
I’m on my way down,
A slow and broken sinking.
Watch me as I drown
In the depths of overthinking.
Silver kisses touch on skin,
Exquisitely and softly.
Touch, but delve so deeply in.
So very costly.
Crimson roses blossom out,
Nourished from within.
Bright red petals forming
Morbid fractals on my skin.
I wonder how many flowers
Are left within to see..
Or if you ever drowned
Inside your mind like me..
But I’m nonetheless eloquent,
So hand me a cigarette.
Don’t do no crystal,
Anyways least not yet.
Right about now
I’m as fucked-up as ima get.
Seems so pathetic,
Seems so unreal.
To relax, I need my brain
In my beautiful madness,
I tear gods down.
In my terrible sadness,
I tear myself down.
I gave the doctor all the pieces of my mind,
Hardly an undivulged thought left behind.
‘Oh Alice my dear, this simply won’t do.
I’ll tell you what’s what, for I’m smarter than you’.
And he smiled as he tore away all that I’d said,
I felt sick as he planted his thoughts in my head.
For I’d said what I thought, and I’d thought what I said,
But now he thought to think my thoughts for myself instead.
He said ‘things might get sad and I’ll tell you why:
I’m afraid the Alice you know, now has to die.
I’ll give you some tablets, take one every day,
And soon you’ll find that this Alice fading away.
And then you’ll be cured! Shiny and new!
A brand new person. Though I couldn’t say who.
The orange light of a life, burning.
That scarlet spark.
Your perfect moment on the ledge.
You lied to keep me in thrall,
To give us another day without sorrow.
But I smell tangerines..
If I write things for myself,
And I like what I have writ,
But hating myself wholly
Is, I must admit,
A fundamental part of me,
At least the largest bit.
Reason and logic would therefore dictate,
That anything I ever write or create,
Is something I should hate..
I wish I didn’t have to,
But I wish that I could prove
I’m not some social label
You can just stick on,
Or simply remove.
Don’t you see?
My diagnosis isn’t me.
I’m not pills inside a bottle
Or high upon a shelf.
I never hurt nobody,
I would rather hurt myself.
No one understands me,
But that’s no big surprise.
Claiming to know someone’s soul
Is only telling lies
True, it isn’t easy,
Sometimes it’s bloody tough,
You have dig below the surface
To find diamonds in the rough.
I’m so exquisitely fucked up, it’s true.
But probably no more than you.
As children we were taught
That god in heaven thought
We all should drown.
Everyone should drown?
Well listen to that sound:
That’s me drowning now.
Later they would tell
Of heaven and of hell.
How to find The Right Gate.
Well they’re far too late,
Maybe you can’t tell
But I already found hell.
I didn’t need to wait.
As for gods’ only son
Dying for our sinning..
I may not have been sinning,
But baby, this is me beginning.
Been standing on street corners
And bridges high.
Staring at the clouds.
Been waiting on tall buildings
And railway lines
All over town.
I admit it’s not much of a plan.
But I’m seeking Superman.
Someone said he left for good,
Others said he died.
I really hope that’s not the case,
That he just partially retired.
I’d like to meet him face to face,
I really need to be inspired.
Seems all I’m left with are
Tied tightly to the end of
In the shape of a hangman’s noose.
I’ve practised the knot at least
No way it will ever come loose.
I just need to find Superman.
I don’t expect to him to save me,
And I doubt that he knows how.
I just wanted to say hi,
Maybe ask if he could fly
Me to the edge of space,
To see the earth from a better place.
I don’t like the view down here.
So I’m waiting near phonebooths
And plane wrecks,
So far there’s nothing to see.
Maybe I’ll become a Crime Lord,
And then he’ll come looking for me.