You know what’s worse than no hope?
You know what’s worse than no hope?
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.
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.
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.
An even deeper cut today.
It wasn’t me who held the knife,
I’m only bleeding on the inside.
Such is life.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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 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.
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
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
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’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 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
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!
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.
“There’s no happy ending.. so they say.
Not for me, anyway…”
-Dr. Horrible’s Sing-along Blog
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’.
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 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.
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.]
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’.
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
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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
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. “
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.
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.
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,
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 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 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 sky seems damaged,
Gifts me with icy tears.
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
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 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.
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.
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’.?
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…
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’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..
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?