deepundergroundpoetry.com
Wonderland
I've been dead for days now.
Trapped inside this body,
similar to a prison compound.
My creativity drains from me faster
than the blood did.
Oozing through my pores
and dripping
soon evaporating into nothingness.
I can eat, sleep, and think clearly.
I don't drink all day anymore,
the thought of drinking alone makes me uneasy.
The process is laid to rest
with the remainder of my artistic ambition.
Buried deep in my soul
somewhere cold
and distant.
I'm happy, content, and perhaps even peachy.
I'm not depressed anymore,
not even when we watch a sad movie.
The fire that once burned brightly and wildly in my heart
has simply been extinguished.
The coals of said fire
are drowned
in the medication.
Pleasant, swell, society's new slave.
I don't question things anymore,
despite being curious as to why I let them dig my grave.
Lost in the prescription
I'm far from losing my mind.
Yet with each dosage
the real me
is harder
and harder
to find.
Trapped inside this body,
similar to a prison compound.
My creativity drains from me faster
than the blood did.
Oozing through my pores
and dripping
soon evaporating into nothingness.
I can eat, sleep, and think clearly.
I don't drink all day anymore,
the thought of drinking alone makes me uneasy.
The process is laid to rest
with the remainder of my artistic ambition.
Buried deep in my soul
somewhere cold
and distant.
I'm happy, content, and perhaps even peachy.
I'm not depressed anymore,
not even when we watch a sad movie.
The fire that once burned brightly and wildly in my heart
has simply been extinguished.
The coals of said fire
are drowned
in the medication.
Pleasant, swell, society's new slave.
I don't question things anymore,
despite being curious as to why I let them dig my grave.
Lost in the prescription
I'm far from losing my mind.
Yet with each dosage
the real me
is harder
and harder
to find.
Published 25th Aug 2014
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Anonymous
25th Aug 2014 7:28pm
<< post removed >>
Scenario, luv :-* ~
It doesn't appear to me that your creativity is extinguished. I recognize that you said it is being extinguished as in, it's in the process of being annihilated by the medications you're on. I'd like to posit something to you: it's not gone, you cannot lose it. It's intrinsic, innate. Perhaps, you find it easier to access portions of it while unmedicated, okay, I'll buy that. Gone, though? I think not. But, you might have to work a bit harder to access other aspects or even see them accurately for what came seemingly effortlessly before merely came with other arduous labor on your part in other ways. Exercise yourself differently and discover other aspects of what is innately yours. It's there. It's yours. You cannot lose it; you can, however, decide that one facet of your gift is overwhelmingly better than all other facets and therefore, the other facets are no good and thus aren't worth exploring, which, in my opinion would be a terrible shame, but that's your decision, luv. :-*
I believe part of the hoax and mythos depression does to us is convince us that only through it are we talented and creative and worthy of hearing, that only then is our voice mystical or esoteric or provocative or whatever exciting adjective one wishes to apply. This is one of the devices depression (and yes, I am deliberately personifying here) utilizes oh-so-adroitly to convince us to remain in its thrall forevermore. Well, I say, "Fuck you, depression, I'll not give you one more iota of me or my talent to fuck me with. This is MINE! Not yours. Not anyone else's. Mine, and I'll do as I please." That's me, though. Medicated, unmedicated, happy, sad, on an emotional roller-coaster, ambivalent, neutral, rolled in cotton balls or cotton batting, it's all mine. Mine and I'm keeping it, thank you. Do the same. Figure it out, luv. :-*
You have a tremendous gift and unexplored, exponential potential. Are you brave enough to venture into territory you've left fairly uncharted? I can tell you your latest works where you begin to explore love are rather extraordinary...
It doesn't appear to me that your creativity is extinguished. I recognize that you said it is being extinguished as in, it's in the process of being annihilated by the medications you're on. I'd like to posit something to you: it's not gone, you cannot lose it. It's intrinsic, innate. Perhaps, you find it easier to access portions of it while unmedicated, okay, I'll buy that. Gone, though? I think not. But, you might have to work a bit harder to access other aspects or even see them accurately for what came seemingly effortlessly before merely came with other arduous labor on your part in other ways. Exercise yourself differently and discover other aspects of what is innately yours. It's there. It's yours. You cannot lose it; you can, however, decide that one facet of your gift is overwhelmingly better than all other facets and therefore, the other facets are no good and thus aren't worth exploring, which, in my opinion would be a terrible shame, but that's your decision, luv. :-*
I believe part of the hoax and mythos depression does to us is convince us that only through it are we talented and creative and worthy of hearing, that only then is our voice mystical or esoteric or provocative or whatever exciting adjective one wishes to apply. This is one of the devices depression (and yes, I am deliberately personifying here) utilizes oh-so-adroitly to convince us to remain in its thrall forevermore. Well, I say, "Fuck you, depression, I'll not give you one more iota of me or my talent to fuck me with. This is MINE! Not yours. Not anyone else's. Mine, and I'll do as I please." That's me, though. Medicated, unmedicated, happy, sad, on an emotional roller-coaster, ambivalent, neutral, rolled in cotton balls or cotton batting, it's all mine. Mine and I'm keeping it, thank you. Do the same. Figure it out, luv. :-*
You have a tremendous gift and unexplored, exponential potential. Are you brave enough to venture into territory you've left fairly uncharted? I can tell you your latest works where you begin to explore love are rather extraordinary...
30th Aug 2014 1:59am
Hmm. You do have a point with creativity being rather intrinsic. I suppose I just panic slightly when it takes more than a few minutes to think of and write out a piece.
My real problem is, before I was on all of these pills, the only time I was truly happy was when I was writing. Afterwards, if I did a good job and got what I wanted to say across, I would feel happy and I would know that I did well. However, now that I'm "happy" more often, I can't really tell if I just threw up on a page and made it look pretty or if I /really/ got what needed to be said across. I can't tell if it's good or not; if it's from me as a person or just a product of psychotropics and disgustingly optimistic views.
You're actually the second person to say that to me. However, I trust you MUCH much more than the first person because you're on here and you write poetry. :P And I can tell just from your writing/comments that you wouldn't do anything to intentionally cause me harm. So, I suppose since one of my own has said the same, I'll consider the possibilities and think into things a bit more.
As always, I can't thank you enough for your feedback, but more importantly, for your insight and advice in this matter. :D
Cheers,
MC
My real problem is, before I was on all of these pills, the only time I was truly happy was when I was writing. Afterwards, if I did a good job and got what I wanted to say across, I would feel happy and I would know that I did well. However, now that I'm "happy" more often, I can't really tell if I just threw up on a page and made it look pretty or if I /really/ got what needed to be said across. I can't tell if it's good or not; if it's from me as a person or just a product of psychotropics and disgustingly optimistic views.
You're actually the second person to say that to me. However, I trust you MUCH much more than the first person because you're on here and you write poetry. :P And I can tell just from your writing/comments that you wouldn't do anything to intentionally cause me harm. So, I suppose since one of my own has said the same, I'll consider the possibilities and think into things a bit more.
As always, I can't thank you enough for your feedback, but more importantly, for your insight and advice in this matter. :D
Cheers,
MC
30th Aug 2014 2:34am
No worries, luv. :-*
For what it's worth:
I have doubts all the time about the viability and worth of my poetry. And, I often have no idea whatsoever whether what I've written is any "good". However, I am compelled to write. And so, I do. And, I do it sometimes with despair deep in my soul, thinking what I have written is surely unworthy, yet at a loss as to how to improve it.
Each time I post a work and it receives accolades or praise, I am surprised and humbled anew by the muse... :-*
For what it's worth:
I have doubts all the time about the viability and worth of my poetry. And, I often have no idea whatsoever whether what I've written is any "good". However, I am compelled to write. And so, I do. And, I do it sometimes with despair deep in my soul, thinking what I have written is surely unworthy, yet at a loss as to how to improve it.
Each time I post a work and it receives accolades or praise, I am surprised and humbled anew by the muse... :-*
