Category Archives: Mental Health

Sticky, Stuck

My mind is sticky, stuck,

That’s the tricksy part of luck;

To have these thoughts, these needs,

and to never set them free…

They do not know me yet

– closet hyperbolic wreck –

(See, they still think I’m sane

and I still play their games),

But my mind is sticky, stuck,

My lips are melted shut

while my heart growls, stomach screams,

and an earthquake rips my seams.

Black Dog’s pulling on his lead;

A hungry, rabid fiend,

Must let the right ones in

to this naked sideshow of my sin,

But my mind is sticky, stuck,

Disconnected, out of touch,

And they will see the cracks set in,

Watch through translucent skin,

See my insides turn to ash,

Watch me stutter, jerk, and thrash,

But they’ll never do enough

to get my sticky mind unstuck.

 

 

Sea of Faces

I’m drowning
in this sea of faces,
So many faces,
All eyes on me,
So many eyes,
I’m suffocated,
So many eyes,
But none can see,
My mind rewinds,
Removes all traces,
Inside, my stasis
starts to bleed,
The wounds are born
from sworn self hatred
that filters out
wellwishers deeds,
All good intent
my mind erases,
And in its place;
a rotten seed,
And from it grows
all the hollow aching
Black Dog’s thirst
could ever
need.

Outline

I’ll curl up right inside myself,
I’ll curl up and I’ll hide,
I’ll hide there right inside myself,
Shrinking, liquefied,
I’ll curl up right inside myself,
They won’t notice I’m not here,
They’ll think I still fill out my skin,
They won’t see me disappear,
Hollow bones and stringy flesh,
Teeth and hair and nails,
The world will see my outline
While I slowly rub out the details.

Popping Corn

My head is full of popping corn,
Must let the right ones in,
Some are bitter, some forlorn,
All sodden; soaked in sin.

My head is full of popping corn,
A jumbled, maze-like din,
I cannot breathe; my cords are torn,
I’m choking on the string.

My head is full of popping corn,
Can’t let the black dog win,
But his howl’s already filched my dawn,
His dark has drawn me in.

Disconnected

What’s this that falls
before my eyes,
With blistered sores
and weary sighs?

A shell, a corpse
that’s mummified
in the bloodied gauze
of her demise,
She is my spirit,
Mauled, maligned,
Her salted tears
have scored and dried.

Malevolence poured
from callous minds,
Like tiny swords
that beat and bind
’til they’ve pilfered thoughts
and plundered rhymes.

My one true call
has cleared the line.

….

Please hang up
Please hang up
Please hang up
Don’t try again.

 

napowrimo2015No NaPoWriMo prompt today…. I was feeling far too sorry for myself. Maybe tomorrow………..

Dysmorphic

It’s a dark, dark road
that you venture down
when you can’t even look yourself
in the eye,
When the words ‘fat’ and ‘ugly’
explode
like landmines
in your mind
every time you look in the mirror,
When you’d rather
rip your flesh and
gouge out your eyes
than have to look a second more
at what you’ve become,
When you punch the fat
hoping that it will vanish,
When you punch so hard
that you might throw up
(and somewhere inside a voice is
lurking
sneering
taunting
“that might actually
do your fat arse some good”),
When you’re jealous
of those with a tummy virus,
When you consider buying laxatives,
When you eat your lunch
and then you start to panic
and you hate yourself,
And hate yourself,
And hate yourself
until it’s dinnertime,
And the cycle starts again,
And again,
When you won’t let him
see you naked
because you
know
he’ll be as
disgusted
as you are,
When you won’t even let him
touch you,
When your skin crawls
at the very thought
of him feeling those
lumps
and
folds
Yes;
It’s a dark, dark road,
And no help is coming,
Because no-one knows
that you’re so far
from home.

Autoimmunity of the Mind

I’m on the precipice
of an explosion,
Complete soul erosion
and a loss of control,
Autoimmunity
of the mind,
Impunity is blind,
Cannibalistic thoughts
that could swallow you whole
disempower each other
– they devour each other –
before they can fruit,
A dissociative fugue
that calls into question
the need to…
reboot?
But with no memory
of sanity
and no manner
of clarity
surely that point
is
just
moot.

Bullies

It’s Blue Monday so this poem is dedicated to all the organisations, bosses, colleagues, and other individuals who never quite graduated from playground bullying. Remember your words and behaviour have consequences……

There is a strange peace
In knowing the day;
The day that the pain
will be going away,
When the bullies will stop
their unending campaign,
No more victim to taunt,
No more victim to shame,
They can no longer rob me
of my money for food,
or threaten or hurt me,
or dampen my mood,
It is almost all over
and I’m almost free,
No longer a slave,
to their insatiable greed.