Session. A short tale.
Isn’t therapy wonderful? It makes you feel so good to get all that crap off your chest. Or bad, depending on how it goes. But what happens when it doesn’t go to plan? Continue reading Session. A short tale.
Category: Mental Health
The Bed I Made. A poem.
Nobody said life was meant to be easy. It’s funny how someone can read something and only see what is on the surface. Poetry runs much deeper than that… Continue reading The Bed I Made. A poem.
Outlook. A poem.
I blame myself for a lot of things. Actually, I blame myself for everything that’s happened in my life. Here’s a poem about that. Continue reading Outlook. A poem.
Everything is awesome. Not.
I often get depressed at the worst times. Like today, when I have to do work for uni and my motivation is at an all-time low. The solution? Write aimlessly about depression for my blog. Yes, I’m sure that will solve everything (I may claim to be a writer, but I never claimed to be an intelligent or coherent writer. Or a man with a plan). Sometimes I play guitar to get me back to a reasonable mental state. But, as we all know (and as I should know, by now), music played by sad people often tends to be…sad. … Continue reading Everything is awesome. Not.
Ghostly. A poem.
I often feel like a wandering spirit. People look through me as if I’m not there. I wrote this poem for them. Continue reading Ghostly. A poem.
Missing. A short tale.
Ever felt like something was missing? I have. And that’s what this brief tale is about… Continue reading Missing. A short tale.
Defaced. A poem.
Lost in the crowd, familiar face from a past long forgotten… I write poems about me and stuff that affects me. That’s just what I do. Continue reading Defaced. A poem.
Stupid Boy. A poem.
I don’t think I’ll ever stop being a stupid boy. I’m trying to be better. I wrote this poem about it. Continue reading Stupid Boy. A poem.
A Writer’s Lot. A poem.
And at that certain time Heads emerge from shells Where they were buried Dreaming tales to tell And cloistered in my womb Loneliness and black dog thoughts Of doom and gloom I send my words to you Sometimes liked Sometimes … Continue reading A Writer’s Lot. A poem.
The Place I’m In. A poem.
Atmospheric periphery Horizon where oxygen thins Light and dark, yang and yin Moonlight shines upon the rim Skirting stars and floating things Reflects the place and state I’m in Continue reading The Place I’m In. A poem.
Shades. A poem.
I once found a pair of brand new sunglasses in an elevator. Rather than turn them in, I decided to keep them (terrible of me, I know).
They change the shape of my face when I wear them, almost making me a different person. When they’re on, I almost have a sense of increased confidence and lessened anxiety. Does that happen with you, too? Continue reading Shades. A poem.
Scream. A Poem Of Dreams.
The angry tide The beach swept clean Refuse returned to the slumber of the sea The frozen snows Such bitter cold Ground disguised, glistening winter freeze The haunted house All empty rooms Cavities and mouldings hold mysteries The ocean ship Pitches, rolls away The storm that blows onward drunkenly All these things Broil and seethe In relentless dreams I drown, I scream I dream about all sorts of stuff. I know you do too. Care to share? Continue reading Scream. A Poem Of Dreams.
Rain. A Poem.
I felt the rain more deeply than ever before It flowed like chaotic capillaries down my face It mingled with tears, a salty, alchemical mix It touched my tongue, combined saliva and cotton mouth It washed me clean of tragic irony and bittersweet regret And when it stopped I stood there dripping, alone as always Contemplating when it would fall on me again Would I accept its cold, cleansing embrace Or would I shrink away to a warmer, dryer place This poem is another experiment for me. I’ve been trying out different free verse structures and meters, and … Continue reading Rain. A Poem.
Empty. A poem.
My head hurts. As always.
If I drank, I could blame it on something.
Alas, the blame is all me. Continue reading Empty. A poem.
Frail. A poem.
Yep. Like I said, last poem. Depression is a pain in the… Continue reading Frail. A poem.
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