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Those Dark Depressive Days

AspergerPoet56
AspergerPoet56
Tyrant of Words
Scotland
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Joined 4th Dec 2018
Forum Posts: 1653

All things Mental Health
post your Poems of life struggles here

we are not alone

except in our minds

AspergerPoet56
AspergerPoet56
Tyrant of Words
Scotland
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Joined 4th Dec 2018
Forum Posts: 1653

jerry can aronist



just  
imagine  
the horror show  
strolling  
through the forest
jerry can in hand  
 
at one  
with mother nature  
whisperimg trees  
singing birds  
a sweet soundtrack  
to the walking dead  
 
heavy with life  
no more  
contemplation  
the time is NOW
or it will  
never be  
 
kneel quietly  
in a  
sun spat clearing  
soaked in petrol  
lighter in hand  
waiting to ignite  
 
last rebellion  
could be  
prosecuted  
for being  
an arsonist  
FUCK IT
 
you can  
arrest and charge  
my charred remains  
drag my burnt carcas
for all to see
but it won't matter  
 
was NEVER seen  
when alive  
at lesast  
my last  
carbon footprint  
will be counted  

Written by AspergerPoet56
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Bluevelvete
Bluevelvete
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 21st July 2020
Forum Posts: 2220

to be a shade.... of yellow

 
      
Fuck~ these hot rolling tears      
i hate my desperation        
loathsome raw throat closing      
this familiar ache      
self diagnosed asphyxiation      
by my own kindness      
i'm certain        
       
pride left in ash      
sense of self....        
just worthlessness        
never enough      
an exhausting      
pot vs kettle    
nonstop beating drum        
       
doomed        
in a type of repetitive damnation      
constantly seeking      
a little bit of revocation        
       
nothingness      
alone      
my usual state of being        
       
dripping blood      
bones broken      
pierce skin      
in gross protruding      
       
hands missing fingers      
ears fallen deaf      
no toes on my feet      
just imperfect      
ugly      
and voiceless      
       
Oh how I embrace        
my creature      
of black
     
       
missing tongue      
ripped in shreds      
muted silence      
sharpened razor wire      
shorn down my back      
millions of paper cuts      
sting and sear      
every single        
little pain      
salted shouts      
so perfectly clear      
       
hues morph      
twisting into a colorful      
hated swirl      
a mind barely intact      
thoughts confuse me        
before a fall into unconscious peril      
       
tail spun yellow     
that's all I see        
how it's saturated  
into my very being  
       
       
through all  
of my black  
 
 
 
 
 
 
of this unfortunate bleed.
       
       
       
       
Written by Bluevelvete
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Carpe_Noctem
Carpe_Noctem
Dangerous Mind
England
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Joined 3rd Mar 2013
Forum Posts: 2715

How Are You Today?

 "Ok"..
now for
those of you
that know "ok"
the type that know
of "it's" broad definition
this is a happy "ok"
the content "ok"
that emotional blanket
deceitfully covering up the "ok"
that as we know
at any moment could be
"ok"
the "ok"
this is as far as I want the conversation to go
"ok" so I hate my self right now
the "ok" of loneliness
"ok" of pain
apathy's child "ok"
Written by Carpe_Noctem
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Strangeways_Rob
Strangeways_Rob
Fire of Insight
Wales
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Joined 31st Mar 2020
Forum Posts: 307

You, Doctor Martin
by Anne Sexton

You, Doctor Martin, walk
from breakfast to madness. Late August,
I speed through the antiseptic tunnel
where the moving dead still talk
of pushing their bones against the thrust
of cure. And I am queen of this summer hotel
or the laughing bee on a stalk

of death. We stand in broken
lines and wait while they unlock
the doors and count us at the frozen gates
of dinner. The shibboleth is spoken
and we move to gravy in our smock
of smiles. We chew in rows, our plates
scratch and whine like chalk

in school. There are no knives
for cutting your throat. I make
moccasins all morning. At first my hands
kept empty, unraveled for the lives
they used to work. Now I learn to take
them back, each angry finger that demands
I mend what another will break

tomorrow. Of course, I love you;
you lean above the plastic sky,
god of our block, prince of all the foxes.
The breaking crowns are new
that Jack wore.
Your third eye
moves among us and lights the separate boxes
where we sleep or cry.

What large children we are
here. All over I grow most tall
in the best ward. Your business is people,
you call at the madhouse, an oracular
eye in our nest. Out in the hall
the intercom pages you. You twist in the pull
of the foxy children who fall

like floods of life in frost.
And we are magic talking to itself,
noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins
forgotten. Am I still lost?
Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself,
counting this row and that row of moccasins
waiting on the silent shelf.

Casted_Runes
Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Thought Provoker
England
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Joined 4th Oct 2021
Forum Posts: 185

Strangeways_Rob said:You, Doctor Martin
by Anne Sexton

You, Doctor Martin, walk
from breakfast to madness. Late August,
I speed through the antiseptic tunnel
where the moving dead still talk
of pushing their bones against the thrust
of cure. And I am queen of this summer hotel
or the laughing bee on a stalk

of death. We stand in broken
lines and wait while they unlock
the doors and count us at the frozen gates
of dinner. The shibboleth is spoken
and we move to gravy in our smock
of smiles. We chew in rows, our plates
scratch and whine like chalk

in school. There are no knives
for cutting your throat. I make
moccasins all morning. At first my hands
kept empty, unraveled for the lives
they used to work. Now I learn to take
them back, each angry finger that demands
I mend what another will break

tomorrow. Of course, I love you;
you lean above the plastic sky,
god of our block, prince of all the foxes.
The breaking crowns are new
that Jack wore.
Your third eye
moves among us and lights the separate boxes
where we sleep or cry.

What large children we are
here. All over I grow most tall
in the best ward. Your business is people,
you call at the madhouse, an oracular
eye in our nest. Out in the hall
the intercom pages you. You twist in the pull
of the foxy children who fall

like floods of life in frost.
And we are magic talking to itself,
noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins
forgotten. Am I still lost?
Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself,
counting this row and that row of moccasins
waiting on the silent shelf.


That was the first poem in my collected Sexton, love it. 😍

Liziantus-Marantus
Liziantus-Marantus
Ivelina Boneva
Twisted Dreamer
Bulgaria
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Joined 7th Nov 2018
Forum Posts: 51

Most of my poems are about life struggles. I couldn't attach the poem,but here''s my poem I call False Freedom.

""False Freedom""
Cross my heart and hope to die. Oh,what a lonely life.
Just love me all you could. But it's not like you should.
The crowd is cheering, but the voice has changed.

Now it sounds like it's made in Hell. I can't break out of my shell.
I discover new ways to die. All I want is to fly in the sky,free.
Please,feed me the bread of the gods. I made a scene and it's not my fault.

I worked hard to earn this fame. And now you are calling me lame,
like a flame. I swimmed like a fish,free in the water.
Now it doesn't even matter. The land was full of flowers and bees.

Now it doesn't even have grass and trees.
I climbed on the mountain and fell from the high.
Now I can't even see the sky.

AspergerPoet56
AspergerPoet56
Tyrant of Words
Scotland
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Joined 4th Dec 2018
Forum Posts: 1653

(I Pick) Scabs

I pick scabs
Watching the wound bleed
Tormenting myself
More ruthlessly
Than any other
Could hope to do
In their wildest
Darkest imaginings

Peeling broken skin
As if inviting pain
Like hurt is my breath
That my mind
Deserves nothing else
I let the monster
Of my own choosing
Dwell coiled around my heart

Let’s say it
Like it is
I fear life more
Than any death could
So in the wilderness
I leave my soul
To decay
Blow away
Written by AspergerPoet56
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Carpe_Noctem
Carpe_Noctem
Dangerous Mind
England
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Joined 3rd Mar 2013
Forum Posts: 2715

Jokes On You

 I am so exhausted playing this game
constantly chasing my tail, it seems
I grow tiresome of two steps forward
three back, do not pass go, do not collect 200

What a joke the mental health system is
I am just passed from one joke of a therapist to the next
So doc I am losing the plot, wigging out

Oh no worries, here take these pills they will sort you out
come see me in a week.

Sad that this is societies answer to it's problems
I am but an undiagnosed self medicated mess
as good as this rant feels, to get off my chest
it is not the cure for what ails me


I think I'm breaking down again
I want off this fucking merry-go-round
I will NOT be held responsible for what happens next
Written by Carpe_Noctem
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AspergerPoet56
AspergerPoet56
Tyrant of Words
Scotland
23awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 4th Dec 2018
Forum Posts: 1653

if
i
died

oniy
hollow words
to console
those
left
behind

for i am
a selfish
CUNT

it's all
about me
in the end
i get
the final
say

Bluevelvete
Bluevelvete
Tyrant of Words
United States
55awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 21st July 2020
Forum Posts: 2220

Last words


if
you
died

roses
would lose
lustre

ink
would
run dry

songs
would
fade away

joy would
turn to grey

days
would drag
of sorrow

words
would stop
formation

imagination
would cease it's wonder

everything
would
turn to stone

motions
would stall
and slow

ache so heavy
would be
all I know

only
emptiness

and my last words
would be
what remains


forever
unsaid
.
.
.
.

if

you
were dead






Elenore
Elenore
Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Joined 28th Aug 2021
Forum Posts: 4

Wow, brilliant write Blue!!
Elenore

Bluevelvete
Bluevelvete
Tyrant of Words
United States
55awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 21st July 2020
Forum Posts: 2220

Thanks, dear lady ✨
🌹 - 💙
xo

AspergerPoet56
AspergerPoet56
Tyrant of Words
Scotland
23awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 4th Dec 2018
Forum Posts: 1653

Bluevelvete said: Last words


if
you
died

roses
would lose
lustre

ink
would
run dry

songs
would
fade away

joy would
turn to grey

days
would drag
of sorrow

words
would stop
formation

imagination
would cease it's wonder

everything
would
turn to stone

motions
would stall
and slow

ache so heavy
would be
all I know

only
emptiness

and my last words
would be
what remains


forever
unsaid
.
.
.
.

if

you
were dead







speechless

Carpe_Noctem
Carpe_Noctem
Dangerous Mind
England
8awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 3rd Mar 2013
Forum Posts: 2715

This anxiety is like a cheap wine

It's not crippling fear panic induced yet
Or is it?

The washing lays piled up
collecting slug trails and heaven knows
What?

Sunday morning coming down
Found?a clean dirty shirt

This is not a happy place yet there is a friendly familiarity here
Amongst all the emptiness (use your imagination im no going to devote more than a cursory verse)
A half drunk bottle of cider would have made for nouvelle cuisine
Save that it was used the nights prior as an ashtray

What permeates sure isn't death but it sure ain't smelling of pine o clean
Someone needs to drawback the curtains open the windows a crack
Written by Carpe_Noctem
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