Going Slightly Mad
She sits on the floor
in the corner of the room,
knees tucked underneath her chin
encircled by her arms,
rocking, rocking, back and forth,
softly crooning some old song
eyes unseeing, fixed and glazed
lost in thoughts of long ago
escaping from reality
a life too full of pain to bear
too frightening to contemplate.
Somewhere in her secret soul
deep within her wounded heart
she knows she cannot stay here
Her family will soon be home
and she must pull herself together.
They must never know about
the secrets of her time alone,
the inner workings of her mind.
But just for now, this little while,
her mind lets go of reason,
flirts with momentary madness,
heeds oblivion's call.
And so she sits upon the floor
in the corner of the room
and wishes she could die.
Nov 2001
A Glimpse Into My Private Hell.
Like swamp gas from its foetid lair
that bursts forth into clean fresh air,
so my thoughts arise unbidden
from the place where they lie hidden
in some stinking mental midden,
bringing me to near despair.
These demons from their souterrain
now come to haunt me once again;
memories awash with sorrow,
love I only ever borrow,
fears about a bleak tomorrow,
percolating in my brain.
They seem so very saturnine
these dark and dreadful thoughts of mine.
Is some monstrous madness lurking
grinning greedily and smirking,
watching, waiting, slowly working,
making me it's concubine?
Why must my mind be so steadfast
and cling so grimly to its past?
Why can I not just cease this travel,
let my tortured mind unravel,
hear the judge bring down his gavel
giving me some peace at last?
© Nov 2001.
Drowning
My subconscious mind once opened,
like Pandora's box, releases its evils.
For Pandora, Hope remained
for consolation, mitigation, reparation.
My Hope, a mischievous sprite
lifts me high only to send me
hurtling back to earth.
A malevolent Tinkerbell taunting me.
And yet I cling to her;
like one drowning I cling to her
but my grip is weak.
© Dec 2001
Ride Out the Storm
Once again the mind descends
spiralling out of control
down
down
into a deep dark well
sorrow rises unbidden
filling me
till it overflows and runs
cascading down my face
unstoppable
unendurable
where does it come from
this grief
this sadness?
why won't it let me live in peace?
what reason can there be
for this sense of desolation
which tempestuously
overwhelms my reason?
Once again I must ride out the storm
stay hidden within
peer through the gloom
till the sun breaks through
bringing a new dawn
of tranquillity
© may2002
Sad and Pointless
Loneliness
a cancer
eats into the soul
extinguishing
destroying it
bit by painful bit
each passing day
is longer
emptier
more bleak
each sleepless night
is darker
quieter
and cold
all sense of being human
is lost within these walls
no voice, no touch,
no sight or sound
exists for reassurance
emptiness is all now
all vacant eyes can see
anticipating hell and
eternal desolation
as courage steals away
reality departs
and takes with it forbearance
of this sad and pointless life
© June 2002
Another Crazy Day
With closed eyes I see them
huge and repulsive
insects entering my brain
destroying rationality
demolishing my sanity
reason in freefall
doomed to crash and burn.
A Fragile Thing
How fragile a thing is the mind
Sixteen years of arduous crawling
out of the dung heap into the light
clawing and scrabbling, inch by inch
learning the meaning of blood sweat and tears
becoming too confident, thinking you're strong
till a few ill-chosen, innocent words
hurl you back headlong into the shit
sitting here shaking with re-opened wounds
bleeding afresh down my nice new persona
Oh Tinkerbell, you sorry sprite,
how long will it take me this time?
© June 2002
Old Memories Awakened.
I found an old diary today.
which stole my peace, just briefly.
March sixteenth of ninety five
I wrote these words in bright red ink:
Have decided I've had enough.
When I feel I'm ready I'll just
kiss it all goodbye.
Life's a bitch.
I didn't do it as you see,
I was hospitalised instead,
but the memories that came to me
when I found those words and read...
I've thrown the diary away.
Such times of overwhelming grief
are dead and gone, or should be,
and deserve a decent burial.
© 2003
Becoming Nihilistic
Once more the ground beneath me starts to crumble;
once more my errant psyche takes a tumble.
The black bat, night, descends upon my soul,
as long days spent inactive take their toll.
Reason lost, thoughts heavy and ballistic
plummet now, becoming nihilistic.
© July 2003
This World is Not My Home
I've never felt at home.
Any place I've ever lived
was just like passing through
since my neonatal welcome -
a slap upon the rear - which is
somewhat depressing but
unfortunately true.
Living can be lonely,
lonely as the last leaf
clinging to a winter tree.
All alone, in company, from
first gasp to dying breath
that's how it's always been
and how it will be.
© Nov 2003
Demons Rise
Demons: again they rise
out of the dank and dismal depths;
mocking me, deriding,
taunts insinuate and seethe.
I can scarcely breathe
for the stench of my deficiency.
Too much alone, I'm preyed upon
by echoes of forgotten voices,
shadows of the past.
Malevolent, they torture me
with devastating barbs:
Failed again! How typical
of damaged goods; faded, cracked,
a ruin of a once-bright hope
in need of restoration.
How many tears will it take
to drown these pestilential imps?
So strong, it seems, their grip so tight
by night or day. Away! away!
What would you have me do?
© Nov 2003
Me and the black hound
have this kind of uneasy truce;
mostly he just hangs around
out of sight, out of mind
but every now and then he
ups and bites me where it hurts.
© Nov 2003
Killing Time
Why do I do it? Struggle
through each dreary day,
the weariness of leaden limbs
matched only by my heavy heart,
my world as dry as dust and grey.
Physically, emotionally,
I've reached an all-time low
the effort is enormous
and I'm tempted, very tempted,
to give it up and just let go.
Still, if this goes on much longer
feeble as I am right now
with no one here to lend a hand
or fetch a sip of water
I'll perish quite soon anyhow.
It seems a welcome prospect
seen from here, within my room
and yet, and yet, there's something
- God knows what, for I don't -
that wants to keep me from the tomb.
The spark of life is strong though,
stronger than we realise.
The pull of preservation
does battle with the intellect
and tells me tantalising lies
about the need to carry on,
for other people if not me,
tomorrow brings the hope of more
and if I quit today there's things
I'll never even get to see.
Sweet lies and sweeter promises
with no means of fulfilling
but maybe if I wait awhile
this melancholy mood will pass.
It's only time I'm killing.
© 2004
Words
Words. Just words.
Echoes of a former life
dredging up forgotten feelings;
fucking with my head.
Foul words, calumnies
spawned from insecurity;
jealousy and accusations
filling me with dread.
Words. Just words, but
words have unimagined power.
Will I ever really heal from
all the things he said?
© 2004
Trying
Trying, trying, to see the light
from a gloomy deep dark well of doom.
Despair and hopelessness prevail,
the future seems uncertain,
as hope once more bids me adieu
and sweet oblivion beckons.
© 2005
Losing it.
Losing my shit
falling apart
can't seem to hold
love don't come around
any more but hey
I wasn't worth it
anyway
life is a bowl
of Jell-O
hello
something not quite
right there
fright there
lot of fear
lonely here
can't seem to hold it
together
no more
there's the window
there's the door
love don't come
around here
any more.
© 2007
Crisis
Is this what they call a crisis then?
Nothing makes sense any more.
I'm out of control, losing the plot,
thoughts and feelings run amok.
Reason is lost, takes flight and flees,
hides behind absurdities.
The desire to die or harm myself
is becoming quite persistent.
There are some spells of lucidity
when it's hard to believe the other me
who says and does things that appall
the me who would never do them at all.
Euphoria takes turns with fear,
some thoughts erotic, others, drear.
Amid the maelstrom one stands clear:
your heart is beating, listen!
Nights aren't for sleeping any more,
I lie awake for hours;
make cups of tea and listen to
the one who writes my poetry.
Right now the tears won't stop.
They roll, slowly, interminably
down my cheek, then drop.
Drip, drip, drop,
from jaw to lap,
or floor.
At other times I'm numb.
No thoughts at all, no feelings,
just cold and eerie nothingness.
Often I feel bewildered:
is this what it's all about?
I can't I won't I shouldn't I must
and who in the world is there to trust
and when and where and how on earth
and why in the world did she ever give birth
to me.
It's all too hard you see.
Too hard, too hard, too hard, too hard
and I'm coming apart at the seams.
They have to question, can't accept,
they never see, never see...
It's what? It's me? You're sure about that?
Of course it is, why wouldn't it be?
I sometimes say the stupidest things,
no thought behind them. Words have wings,
like wasps they fly and sometimes sting.
No wonder people doubt me.
I doubted too, for far too long.
They called me stupid or worse, a liar.
Now I know better but still desire
acknowledgement; but it's just the same
they don't believe me so what's the point
of having a view at all.
Yes, I'm not easy to understand,
I know I know I know I know
I don't have to be reminded.
It's all too much; retreat, retreat
and find some peace, for a while at least
but I'll pen my thoughts for posterity
until the storm abates.
© 2007
Reflections in the Aftermath of Depression.
When black clouds descend
and all is unremitting gloom
no-one seems to be a friend
there really isn't any room
for folk who say "Cheer up".
That's like describing rainbows
to a person blind from birth:
it hasn't any meaning
validity or worth.
For in that place of darkness
it's impossible to comprehend
that light will come again;
that hope, like springtime, will return
dispelling once again the frost
that penetrates the heart and mind
and petrifies the soul.
Like those who lived in ancient times
who saw the passing of the sun
and feared it's failure to return
it seems some primitive response
convinces us that all is lost:
there's no escaping, no way out;
no words, no logic, penetrate
the icy grip of winter.
Yet in its own good time the sun
breaks through the pestilential cold
and banishes despondency
til winter comes again.
© 2010
They Come
Very down again.
Lack of sleep? Too much alone?
Or the thoughtless words of a friend?
Probably all the above.
Tears fall, can't concentrate,
I need a cuddle but that's a joke
haven't had one for many a year
and none in the offing either.
Days like this I really don't need
but still they come, they come.
I'd thought that this was over
but no. It's here again.
The deadness of soul,
the feeling unsafe,
the longing, the feeling
of hopelessness.
At least I know it will pass
in time.
June 2013.
Fraught.
From a place of seeming security suddenly I plummet.
Down, down, into the dark, a dark I've known before.
In just one hour of talking I hurtle from the summit.
How can he say he loves me then wound me to the core?
After years of hell and heaven I achieved a kind of peace;
all was smooth serenity, nothing in our way.
Now the trust I attained so hard flies like a flock of geese.
Maybe I was fooling myself, it's very hard to say.
Does woman ever know her man? Or is it just illusion?
Honesty is limited, frankness may be rationed.
The joy of yesterday is gone, my mind is in confusion,
I'm just not sure now who he is, how his mind is fashioned.
What is loving anyway? It's not what I had thought.
I keep forgetting the limits, you see, maybe it's just that.
It seems to be for such as me relationships are fraught.
Perhaps I should admit defeat and settle for my cat.
June 2013
Down Again
What do you do
when the urge is strong
you know it's wrong
but the urge is strong
the urge to self harm,
to hurt yourself
to take away pain
which sounds insane
so what can you do
instead.
Suddenly fragile
once again
tears fall
but that's all.
No harming today.
It's not gone away
but buried once more
for now.
2013
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