And I get so
That all my sad thoughts flow.
Did I do it again?
Did you do it again?
All I asked
Was that you didn’t.
Didn’t do it again.
That if you broke my heart on repeat,
You’d leave my soul intact this time.
And I get so
That all my sad thoughts flow.
Did I do it again?
Did you do it again?
All I asked
Was that you didn’t.
Didn’t do it again.
That if you broke my heart on repeat,
You’d leave my soul intact this time.
I’m gonna be down.
I’ll be damn down,
Low down, So down,
Going to drown down,
Didn’t you know? down,
You’d never go down
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
Using a combination of what I believe my parents and sister thought were ‘subtle and undetectable’ signals, my parents realised my sister wanted some ‘alone time’ with me, and announced with poor theatrics, that they were going to find us all some ‘real’ coffee , as the stuff that spurted erratically from the vending machine up the hall was not worthy of the title.
The door closed, and my sister Catherine (Kath/y), sighed, ‘They mean well’.
Then there was a long silence in which neither of us looked at each other, stretching out until I was about to speak, when Kathy grabbed my uninjured hand tightly and looking in my face asked “WHY Ali?.
My eyes flicked away. There were a thousand glib reasons I could have given, but I decided to be upfront for once.
I took a deep breath. ‘If i start to cry you have to leave. Promise me.’
She could sense the seriousness of what I was about to say, and nodded.
‘It’s my p..’ my voice cracked. ‘It’s my punishment’.
‘What the fuck?’ Kath sounded confused. ‘Punishment for what?’.
‘For every thing. For life, for failing life.’ Once i started, the words rolled out of me.
And not just that, to correct a mistake. People always assume that the universe doesn’t make mistakes, that whatever happens is the ‘natural order’.But it does. I should never have existed Kath. We both know that. Not like this.
“I was in pre-Law Kath! Pre-Law! Practically a shoe-in for the full degree. Then I was an arts student, then a drop out arts student, then I was a nothing, and then I wasn’t even that.. Just a fucking joke.’
‘But you’re sick, you have reason for that..’
I choked on a combination of a snort and a laugh.
‘Bi-polar’. The biggest joke of all. Even people who know what it is, don’t know WHAT IT IS.
I get responses like “oh yeah, i I had that but i just worked my way through it. Even you, and the olds, you don’t really know what it is like.’ I was tearing up now..
‘We do our best’.
‘I know you try’, i said, ‘but you don’t have the slightest clue.’
‘You don’t know that…’
‘Yeah, i do. Cos if you did, you’d have let me die.’
She started to protest, but i started humming. The louder she tried to speak, the I louder matched it, until I started singing the lyrics loudly:
‘you do it to yourself, you do,
And that’s what really hurts
Is that you do it to yourself, just you
You and no-one else
You do it to yourself,
You do it to yourself.’
‘DON’T YOU SING FUCKING RADIOHEAD AT ME.’
She was shouting now, I was practically screaming my vocal chords raw.
‘YOU DO IT TO YOURSELF, YOU DO,
AND THAT’S WHAT REALLY HURTS..
She screamed in frustration, balling up her fist, but realised she couldn’t punch a restrained patient, even if it was her sister, so she left, slamming the door ineffectively, as those kind of doors don’t really slam.
And I kept screaming the same two lines over and over, as best as I was able, through the sobbing.
And that, dear reader, if you’ve been with me from the start, you may recognise, is where we came into this (poetry) blog:
Singing Radiohead at the top of my lungs……
Maybe that’s a good note to break on.
My heart hasn’t been in it since…..
I won’t call it ‘closed’. But I will say that many wounds of many kinds will have to heal before I can find the lightness of spirit to be glib and smarmy again.
“One day I’ll get to you
And teach you how to get to purest hell….
You do it to yourself, you do.”
-Radiohead / Just
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.
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 black 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’re a strange 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,
I’m having to tell you
That I’m lonely and blue,
I don’t know what to do
When the sky..The sky I swore would stay blue,
Is now 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, 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 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 never do.
So I’m cold. On the floor bleeding out
In so many different ways,
And every wound is very deeply laid
By every single fucking wasted day,
By all the thoughtless things that people say.
And I don’t want to stay, no, don’t want to stay.
Not like this anyway.
Hope you’ll forgive me some day.
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.
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 the 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.
The leaves fall for you,
My almost forgotten one.
But they tumble without reason,
Without motion or purpose.
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 all, have everything I see.
And all it would cost is just me.
From ‘Buffy, The Vampire Slayer.’
Episode: ‘Once More, With Feeling’.
Song: ‘Something to Sing About’
“Life’s not a song.
Life isn’t bliss,
Life is just this:
You’ll get along
The pain that you feel,
You only can heal
“The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.”
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.
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
Tend not the roses,
Leave the grapes ‘pon the vine,
The dust to settle as it may.
For things will not ever change,
I will always be myself,
And it’s broken my heart this day.
Bad, sad day, what a pity.
My muse has died or fled the city.
Mind full of naught but ash and dust,
And all that’s left is just…
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.
I saw Alice in a shattered mirror,
Barely recognised or seen.
I knew that I’d been out of touch
And asked her how she’d been.
I hoped she hadn’t suffered much.
She said she hurt. Hurt like never before,
No drugs worked, no sun anymore.
She looked at me, then I was the mirror,
She said ‘how’s it feel now you’re broken through?
Do you bleed inside? Are you out of your mind?
‘Cause I’m out of my mind too.’
And all that I could say,
Was I even died on good days,
Because every morning feels
Like a spiders sting that stays.
And though the ground falls beneath me,
I float because I’m empty.
But deflate too soon.
She nodded, not seeming very surprised.
‘No one sees me either, I’m just dust in people’s eyes.’
‘No words I can believe,
Because they’re designed just to deceive.
I can always see through,
Anything and everything said to
I felt her pain, nodded again,
Said it’s lonely here without you.
‘Someones touch, I crave so much.
Even if they hold me and squeeze,
‘Til my insides crush and bleed,
I still might get what I need.’
She said they always leave you wounded.
Her torso had a hole,
And it bled right through her soul.
She turned, and then she became me,
Or did I become her inside?
The hole was in my torso though,
And that was how we died.
I’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.
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!
“There’s no happy ending.. so they say.
Not for me, anyway…”
-Dr. Horrible’s Sing-along Blog
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 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’.
War in my mind.
There’s a war in my mind.
Seek and ye shall find,
That it’s howling all the time,
There’s a war in my mind.
Black in my soul.
It’s all black in my soul.
No diamond in the coal,
I reap just what I sow,
It’s all black in my soul.
– Beth Hart / War in My Mind
I find it somewhat ironic that in society today, when someone suffers greatly from a particular mental illness or malady, that they will go to such lengths to ‘heal’ them.
All kinds of medications and treatments have been prescribed to me.
Many that are illegal in any other context.
Amphetamines, benzodiazapines, anti-psychotics.
Iron infusions, supplements, electrocuting your brain.
They do so much to keep you alive and attempt to make you functional.
Even when they shouldn’t.
Even when it would be so much cheaper and easier to let you die, they still refuse.
But they have no objections about removing your rights, forcing you against your will to continue to exist in constant misery and suffering. To remain alive.
Even when you shouldn’t.
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.
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 basic problem with this kind of rope, you see,
Is that it’s tethered far too tightly to my sanity.
Maybe if I enjoyed a single moment,
Maybe if I could control or own it,
I’d be happier alive,
Given a reason to survive,
But all I get is non-stop misery.
So fuck me.
No apologies for profanity.
I’m stuck here in my head, wishing I was fuckin’ dead,
Because there’s nothing in this world that I can see,
Nothing for me.
Nothing for me.
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 can smile at a party.
After the turn out, I
Turn off my burnt out
I can greet you on the street
And you won’t even ask
About the chosen mask
I look through out at you.
I can attend a family event,
I’m still quite able
To sit at a table,
Pretending to be me.
See the pallette spread before me,
Choose a colour, it adorns me.
Pick the right one, I can be
Anyone I want to be.
If I can be anybody, oh so easily,
No difference that any one, not even I can see,
One face or another, all so equally..
Which one is really me?
She brings me spun-shadow,
Like a cotton-candy treat,
Delicate, and deceptively sweet,
She says ‘taste of this’.
Already sugar high,
It’s so easy just to try
Spun sugar with a darker dye,
Just a bite.
But an insidious spiders web,
A sticky gossamer thread
Like fine, fine spun-sugar,
Gets inside your head.
Ensnares you there
Wraps around you,
Like a sticky quicksand glue.
Mired in darkness
That clings and brings
‘Taste of this’.
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,
Our whole lives playing
At make-believe and pretend,
Like every song or story,
All songs and stories
We act so well, the human lie,
But acting takes its tole,
For if we are to fit the role,
A piece of us must die.
Some quotes on depression from two of my favourite authors, and pretty much how I feel right now.
” In every way that counted, I was dead. Inside somewhere maybe I was screaming and weeping and howling like an animal, but that was another person deep inside, another person who had no access to the lips and face and mouth and head, so on the surface I just shrugged and smile and kept moving. If I could have physically passed away, just let it all go, like that, without doing anything, stepped out of life as easily as walking through a door I would have done. But I was going to sleep at night and waking in the morning, disappointed to be there and resigned to existence.”. ― Neil Gaiman
“Depression is the most unpleasant thing I have ever experienced. . . . It is that absence of being able to envisage that you will ever be cheerful again. The absence of hope.
That very deadened feeling, which is so very different from feeling sad.
Sad hurts but it’s a healthy feeling. It is a necessary thing to feel.
Depression is very different.”. ― J.K. Rowling
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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,
‘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”.
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. “
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..
Sits uneasily, bus seat perfunctory.
A lump of hard plastic.
Stares through the once was window, now just a diary of scratches and rage.
Watches uncertain possibilities of herself huddling around trash-can fires, scrounging through back alleys behind steaming food stores.
Standing staring back with vacant yet accusing eyes.
Sees herself in the cracks.
The could have been.
Might have been.
Hot and heavy tears,
Perhaps they fall for all the could-have-beens.
Perhaps they fall because I’m uncertain on which side of the glass I belong.
Hates the burden of this unwanted blame.
Unresolved guilt builds into anger.
Resents your unspoken accusations.
Sick with self-doubt about how true they may actually be.
Hates these imagined obligations of grief, twisted and embedded in my head.
All these not-so-very-unlikely possible, potential versions of me.
I hate them.
I hate you.
I hate myself.
I hate society, for making me feel as though I should constantly feel lucky.
Lucky to be as damaged and fucked up and empty as I really am.
Oh, so lucky.
‘And how are things with you these days, Alice?’, inquired The Cheshire Cat.
‘Well’, she answered, ‘You know that feeling when everything seems to be working out?
Your chickens have all come home to roost.
There’s a glorious sunrise, and finally, life is good’?
‘No’, replied The Cat, ‘ I can’t say that I do’.
‘Oh’, said Alice, thoughtfully, then after a little while, rather sadly, ‘Me neither’.
I pass through life
Unnoticed in dreary monotone.
Careless watercolour washes
Or perfectly placed impasto.
I wish for more than merely nothing,
Having been a sketch too many times.
Please explain my existence,
Society, and it’s distance,
That only ever amplifies this
Self imposed resistance.
Decorating pillows with tears,
My armor but a quilt,
Alone, confused, helpless,
Masturbation and guilt.
I must have murdered an angel
In a previous life, now I atone,
Endlessly tortured and punished,
My brain is not my own,
Just constant echoes of darkness,
Alone, Alone, Alone.
This is the path I chose,
And here I am undone.
A clown without her clothes
In front of everyone.
Liar Liar Liar,
For closer to the fire,
What seemed like shining wings
Are melting waxen things.
‘As fake as a wedding cake’,
The Manson lyric goes.
I’ll be the slice left on the plate
That no-one ever chose.
Talks a lot
But says nothing.
Takes a lot
But never brings.
No more, no more,
I said before.
Yet here I write,
Part 1: Identifying The Pieces.
– – –
“To whom do I owe the biggest apology?
No one’s been crueler than I’ve been to me.
I’m sorry to myself,
My apologies begin here before everybody else.
I’m sorry to myself,
For treating me worse than I would anybody else.”
– Alanis Morissette / Sorry to Myself
And now for something completely diff…
well.. ok, pretty much the same
Express Elevator Down:
to Major Depressive Episode?
Don’t mind if I do.
“I am just going outside and may be some time.”
Feeling a little like…
‘Who cares if one more light goes out?
In a sky of a million stars
It flickers, flickers.
Who cares when someone’s time runs out?
If a moment is all we are,
We’re quicker, quicker.
Who cares if one more light goes out?’
-One More Light / Linkin Park
‘Please don’t go, I want you to stay,
I’m begging you, please, please don’t leave here.
I don’t want you to hate for all the hurt that you feel.
The world is just illusion trying to change you.
Being like you are, well, this is something else.
Who would comprehend?’
-Illusion / VNV Nation
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.
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.
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.
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 with 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.
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.
Nevermind, it’s not as though you were using it in the first place.
Hot tears on my face.
Thoughts of a better place.
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
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 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?
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.
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’.
‘And since we’re down,
Might as well stay.
Might as well fry some eggs.’
– Tori Amos
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 even to pretend.
Oblivion will be 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’.?
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 so 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.
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.
Despite the best efforts of . . friends; family; doctors; psychologists; etc,
I live with the strong sense that my life consists of just. .waiting to die.
Passing the days in varying degrees of misery, until such time as I part ways with being alive.
It’s not as fun as it sounds.
I say I’m wrong just to agree with myself,
Make up my mind but 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 world 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 my proper 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 my mind.
Didn’t see the ‘no swimming’ sign,
But you came by and threw me a line.
Now I’m out, and pretending to be fine.
Having a wonderful time.
Thankful you’re here.
Ah, what bitter tears are these?
That carve like acid, tracks of sorrow
‘pon my face for all to see.
Witness in the way I walk,
The lack of my self-worth.
Hear me speak with vitriol,
Bitterness that takes its toll,
On you, on me.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
These neglected vampryic lines.
Awkward symbiotic pain:
Craving to be written,
Hungers to be read.
Demands from me
That you consume
Vanity I hold within.
Alas too oft
My veins grow thin..
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
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..
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 has faded away.
And then you’ll be cured! Shiny and new!
A whole brand new person. Though I couldn’t say who.
“Imagine you were dying.
Imagine you were afraid and a long way from home in terrible pain.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, you looked up and saw the face of the Devil himself.”
- Doctor Who : Season 06.Episode 13
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..
Bits of broken me lie upon the loungeroom floor,
Kinda hoping I’ll get stepped on.
No-one even asks about the sugar in my coffee,
One lump or two, I wish they’d say.
It’s just a short train ride to down,
Thought I’d spend the night,
Or maybe go insane for the weekend.
I always thought you understood
The twists inside my head.
Not as a navigator would,
But sort of where they led.
But now I see that all the while,
You drank their Kool-Aid too,
And kept behind your plastic smile,
Things I never knew you never knew.
Now you look at me as they do,
It empties out my chest.
The one who hasn’t got a clue,
Should have known me best.
These cooling cups of tea
Bring darker thoughts instead,
Of empty eyes
And lukewarm baths,
Filled with swirling red.
Of the slow drip-dripping
Onto a tiled floor.
Alongside all these feelings
That have no metaphor.
No way to describe..
Being dead inside.
I gave you my love, I’m sure that’s right,
But your disregard came sealed up tight
In tiny bottles, labels white,
Saying ‘drink me’.
I trusted you then,
When I was stronger and taller,
But each dose you gave
Only made me feel smaller.
I took your ‘drink me’ every day,
’til I was so small,
I just faded away..
I could walk into the ocean
And swallow it all down.
Yet never drown.
Such emptiness within abides,
Ne’er filled or shape descried
By endless changing tides.
A thousand suns devoured,
Galaxies all scoured,
To universes’ end and back,
Would not fill what I lack.
If a girl screams in the forest,
With no-one else around,
Does she make a sound?
If no-one sees her body fall,
Does she hit the ground?
If she loses all her bearings
Does she still feel down?
If she’s flooded by emotion
Do you think she’ll drown?
Small snow white
Gave me a blanket unfurled.
I wrapped myself inside,
Safe and warm from the world.
I stayed there for the afternoon,
Cosy inside my chemical room.
I think you know the one I mean:
I died a little more today,
A smile on my face,
Nothing seeming out of place
Secretly not ok.
Part of my insides withered away,
While grinning all the time,
Just pretending that I’m fine,
Secretly not ok.
No I can’t come out to play,
I need a place to hide,
Somewhere I can die inside,
Secretly not ok.
Daughter of Autumn
Entered the lake.
No ripple in wake.
Nightgown tied tightly
To a lifetime of sorrow,
To rocks and stones, and
A book she had borrowed.
She whimsically wished
There were waterlillies.
Icy water passed over her chin.
Gave herself into the water..
Cries no more, Autumn’s Daughter.
Got my pockets full-up
For a firefly summer.
Treats to attract tiny
Not every chocolate bar
Will be so sacrificial.
Get me through the day.
Stained brown pockets and a
I despise this
I don’t want it,
Yet no one will ever
Wrest it from
Neither can I cast it off.
I smelled her before I heard her.
The smell of ozone, and freshly cut grass.
She stood quietly behind me, watching as I teetered along the edge of the rooftop, eyes squeezed shut, singing as gleefuly and loudly as I was able;
“Singin’ Radiohead at the top of our lungs,
With the boom box blaring as … ”
I stopped, thought for a moment, then spun neatly on one foot to face her.
“Do you suppose”, I pondered aloud, “That p’raps I should be singing Radiohead at the top of my lungs, instead of singing at the top of my lungs about singing Radiohead at the top of my lungs?
It hardly makes much sense to sing about singing about something, when one may just as well sing it to begin with!”.
I nodded, satisfied, as I wobbled slightly on the narrow ledge. It was perfectly marvelous logic.
“Alice”, she said gently “It’s time to come down.”
“It’s alright”, I waved my hand around like a proud performer, “I shan’t fall off, its…at least somewhat partially safe”.
She looked at me reproachfully; “You know what I mean, Alice.”
I pouted. I knew exactly what she meant.
“I’m sure no one would mind if I stayed a little longer…”
“You’ve been up for over two weeks now”.
It sounded accusatory.
“Yes! Two glorious weeks up!”
I grinned. “It’s been simply wonderous”.
She frowned at me. “Alice. You know how this works.”
“Fine. It was getting boring anyhow”, I lied.
It was never boring.
I stepped down onto the roof as she held out her hands.
Coated in the blackest of black.
Blackness so dark it was more like an absence of light than a physical substance.
She look at me with a strangely sad expression.
“Brace yourself Alice, I’m afraid this one is going to leave a mark.”
She leaned forward and put her hands inside my head…
Across the table, my mother looked up from her dinner plate.
“Did you say something, honey?
So I killed a girl.
Gave her medication
And a grey, grey world.
Now she’s one of the walking dead,
Echoes of emptiness
Filling her head.
I come across her everyday
In reflections I chance to see.
She just won’t leave or go away..
Because she’s me.
Confessions of crystalline aches,
Bends, breaks, and mistakes.
An icy affinity for cracking.
Wrote heartbroken hands
‘I hold darkness’.
Her broken letters and verse
Ending with trembling words
Writ large in her blood: ‘I am lacking’.
Jump on in.
Did you think this time
You would finally swim?
Sink on down.
Just like the last time,
You’re going to drown.
The sea’s too wide.
You know you can’t make it,
You’ve already tried.
Run and hide.
One day you’ll realise
You’ve already died.
A little sugar please,
In the coffee of my days.
They are unsweetened, black,
And full of malaise.
Just a spoonful of honey
To lighten the taste,
Of endless afternoons
Going to waste.
Today is still an ocean,
Depression, Sirens’ song.
Although I’m holding to the mast,
I’ve never been that strong.
My strength is fading quickly,
My grip is growing weak,
All the crew just stand aside
And watch me, super-freak.
Always feeling like an outcast
Makes me wonder why I struggle.
So much for my ocean,
I think I’m drowning in a puddle.
I wake up every morning,
And I get up just because.
Each time, I am something less
Than something that I was.
My fingers’, cut and bleeding
From picking off the floor,
Tiny broken splinters
Of what I was before.
Days of endless madness
Hardly knowing what I do.
Sudden chills of horror
When I realize what is true.
My mind is like the construct
The poet Yeats foretold:
‘Things fall apart;
the centre cannot hold’.
I am not myself, several times a day,
If you’ve never felt like this,
You may think that’s ok.
But I’ve got a feeling,
This will never change.
How many times in a day
Can sanity rearrange?
Because I’ve got a feeling,
It’s too much to take.
There’s only so many times it bends
Before the willow breaks.
I have too many empty chairs,
Empty coffee cups,
The aching feeling no one cares,
Just empty hallways, empty stairs.
There are too many empty places,
Where there should be faces,
Nothing but the faintest traces,
Faded postcards, old suitcases.
No one calling on the phone,
No one asking
If I’m home.
Just an endless dial tone
I attempted to be strong,
And though pain can make you stronger,
Strength fades in the end,
And I just can’t pretend
We hide from ourselves
As best we may,
And I always thought I could,
Until my trees became my wood,
And I lost my way.
I’m lost and afraid,
And it hurts not to show,
But as hard as I try
I can’t see the sky,
And there’s nowhere for me to go.
It’s ironic, in the end,
That I should be the one,
Thinking I was stronger,
Who just ran so much longer,
When there was nowhere left to run.