Writing letters with blades
Addressed to you
My madness
Take these veins
And wrap them around my sadness
I am host
To all of these dragons
Waging war on this brain
My island
mental health
Bleed
Piercing through the sadness
Like trying to shine a light through the madness
But all that comes is blood
Running down, making tracks
A wreckage embroiled on skin
With maps of violence
Filling the silence
All these thoughts
All these thoughts swim
Till they run
Merging and
Words become undone
Falling away
Somewhere hidden
The thoughts gone
But the feelings remain
Without a name
And then a new thought
Falls into view
Only to fall away
Before you really knew
And the feeling grows
But the words, you do not know
And you wonder
Something
Somewhere
The letters of the thoughts
R
u
n
n
i
n
g
.
.
.
.
Infestation
My body is a casket
for breath
Another breath in
And out
Emptiness encroaching
Like cockroaches
Always surviving
through the momentary fulfillment
meant to demolish
sadness
My body a casket
awaiting death.
Another one on Absence
Your absence rings
In my ears
As if
Every voice
Not yours
Is a gunshot
Reverberating
In my skull
Your absence lingers
In every musical interval
As if
Every note
Sustains your existence
Behind my eyes
Yet my mind’s eye
Continues to blur you
As if you’re fading, still
Not quite a ghost, but not quite true
A shadow
I must hold onto.
Dysmorphia
Ugly
Fugly
Staccato of laughter
Echo
Echo
After time
I don’t hanker
Staccato of footfalls
And dripping taps
Remind me who I still am
And have.
Drowning
realising there is no rafter
Pastel face smudged away
No happy ever after
Paint a crooked smile
A clown, a gargoyle
A monster
A crocodile
Frankenstein
Fucking mouths
Hostile
Mutant
Ogre
The periphery
Of mirrors
Framing the freak
The words on my lips
“Please don’t look at me.”
Through
I was a bicycle wheel
Treading through mud
skidding to a halt
Coming loose
Rolling through fields unknown
Collapsing on intentions
Weeds entwined through spokes
I need to be a giant
I’m too small
For these feelings and thoughts
I need to be a giant
To keep it all contained
Inside
Desperation in socks
You, desperation in socks
Sanity heard you coming
And changed all the locks
You wanted to be like anyone else
But you crystalised
Into yourself
Wading through treacle
When Depression has got it’s grip on you, every little thing you should do, need to do feels like a chore.
Every damn thing.
There is so much resistance, sickening resistance within, to do anything.
Forget the analogy of drowning in water.
It’s like wading through treacle.
