Dear Alice..

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
Myself
Really matters
Anymore.
And I know that we swore..

Dear Alice, love you,
But I hate your guts too.
Everybody assumes
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.
Dear Alice.

FYI

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.

briefly on suicide

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.

Have You Seen This Life?

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.

Suicidal Ideation

Vicodin? Percocet?
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.

A Tidy Demise

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.
How fitting.

Blood 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. “

Once in a lullaby..

This place is feeling far too much
Like Kansas, or locales with such
Mundane similarities.
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..

Interlude..

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

—-

Eyes Closed

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
A statistic.

I could become the delay
The commuters all hate,
Cos I ruined their day..

With my eyes closed.

“…I want to get off.”

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.

Wha..?

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
Anyway

on the count of three..

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.

excerpt – Smilla

“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 (quote #2)

“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.”

  • Lee Lemon

The Saga of Alice Insane

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
Something.
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 any sound,
Until in the morning, finally found,
Her body and spirit no longer bound.

I’ll take mine black

Too often
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.

the lake

Daughter of Autumn
Entered the lake.
Slowly, gently,
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.

Shook uncontrollably,
Sobbing within,
Icy water passed over her chin.
Gave herself into the water..

Cries no more, Autumn’s Daughter.

Heartbroken Hands..

Heartbroken hands
Whispered..
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’.