Poem 73

It’s tiring
Pretending to be strong
My facade is effective
While the inside crumbles.
It’s hard to admit
The unwilling wallowing within
I can’t be the me
That I used to be.
Imbalanced and confused
No easy way to define
The feelings that
Overwhelm – pride.
I can’t admit
For the world to see
All my struggles are there
If you look closely.
See the hollow eye
Now devoid of its smile
It occasionally fills but
Is it a lie?
There once was a smile
For the world to see
You still see that facade
But there is no more me.


Poem 64

Why do my eyes do this?

Crying for no reason

My brain flooding with unexpected emotion

Through the ducts, channelling my face.

Life’s uncertainties overwhelm

The seratonin struggles to balance

What can I do to make the world seem

Focused –

Full of acceptance?

I don’t understand this wave of … something

Rushing, coursing, debilitating.

For now I guess I’ll survive.


Poem 57

Up and down, up and down,

My moods they flutter up and down.

Approval granted for such variation

Doesn’t change the disappointed soul.

Happy yet sad, confused yet clear

I understand that you are not here

Life does go on, it has done, you’ve seen

Yet the grief attacks months after the scene.

Lows and highs, I feel them all

Powerful actions that cut through the heart

Warming or cooling depending upon

The aim of the attack thus far.

Freedom, I long for, my moods can’t sustain

The fluctuation of chemicals in my brain

Overthinking yet vacant, nothing in the stare

Nothing gazed upon either, now you’re not there.

Poem 47

Melancholy illuminated by candlelight
The flickering flame resonating with the unsteady mind
It dances, pirouetting like ill-shaped thoughts
Ultimately steady if not provoked.

The scent fragrances the air and
Cleanses the oversensed mind
A focus, capturing the vision from its lonely source.

Frenetic and unkempt though the mind can be
Calmed, now it is, with the lights serenity
A distraction from hellish thoughts of hurt
Entropy –

there must be balance in this heart.

Poem 46

Hard, compression against the skin

Indentation enough for this night

The feel of where the blade has been pressed

Comforts enough for a crack of light.

Unacceptable method of healing I know

But a stitch it provided, relief, hope,

Incomprehensible thought it must be

It focussed the terror in me.

Left with no scar, temporary red

No blood fell from the attempt

An alternative weapon later may provide

The next step, erosion, of the flesh outside.

Poem 45

If I stay, should I stay, what is left to fear?

I’ll have my love, the one who’s here

A smile and a dance, jovial moods

Splattered with my failing, my ineptitude.

If I go, should I go, what would I fear?

That my love, he won’t be so near

Separated by Earth and depression, loathing

The act that saw the fight stopping.

Caught in a crossfire of love and hate

Of fraught relationships – damn you fate!

Stolen and split my life has become

And, who knows,

am I done?

Poem 42

I am afraid
I am afraid of the darkness inside
I am afraid it will win
I am afraid of its strength and stolen resilience
Captured from the lonely hope, unwittingly.

I am lost
I am lost in a paradox of smiles and tears
Of happiness and longing, and fear.
I am lost in the real world but clear in my dreams –
The silent slumber is winning.

I am.
Am I?

Poem 37

The cold metal pressed against my arm

Readying for the release of liquid terror

Anticipating pain on a marked form

Suspended thoughts fighting the blade.

Time passes and still, no terror flows

The flesh freezes with unexpected contact

Too long has passed and it won’t be done

The action admitting the yearning cry.

Desperation for a physical mark to show

Bearing on behalf of the wounded mind

That organ so twisted and tortured in anguish

Yet hidden behind an ever false smile.

The metal releases, now warm from the fight

Stowed away ready for the war next night.

Poem 35

Unwarranted shame imprints on the mind

Poisoning otherwise pure moments

Infecting the smiles of momentary relief

From a grief abundantly potent.

The struggle to heal and fight is real

The weariness impedes battling limbs

The heart, the stomach, the brain all weak

Marching making no more than a quiver.

Dragging the soulless creature to the front

To face the demons with open arms

Embrace or decline? It is not yet decided

But a fight will occur ’til death do us parted.