Tag: Mental Health

Love, Poetry, Writing16 Comments

Phantom Limb. A poem.

Laidback DM

I’m forever haunted by this phantom limb, writhing in my sleep, guilt stricken for my sins. I see you in every couple on the street, and at the coffee shop, where we drank each other in. It feels like you’re still across from me; the conversation, imagined and forlorn, accusing eyes that follow me no more. Your ghost absorbs my days and nights, a peripheral blur, just out of sight. Time heals all wounds; such perfect sense, but not in my experience. You’re the limb I lost, that still persists. A phantom limb, my will insists. Continue reading Phantom Limb. A poem.

Fatherhood, Mental Health, Poetry, Writing11 Comments

Through His Eyes. A poem.

Laidback DM

See the world. But not through your own eyes. Try his. Try seeing and yet not seeing, failing to understand what they truly perceive. Messed up signals, like a traffic jam waiting to happen. Open your mouth, like his mouth, and watch the words tumble out: unannounced, tactless and indiscreet; a crossword of errors on a big broadsheet. Walk alone, not by yourself, but like him: truly alone, like the world has eaten you up and spat you out. Deserted, when you truly needed love instead of doubt. This is how he feels. So extend a hand. Feel with him. … Continue reading Through His Eyes. A poem.

Love, Poetry, Writing42 Comments

Heartbreak. A prose poem.

Laidback DM

My heart was broken, and the pieces lay scattered across the floor like so much fractured crystal. It lay where it fell for days, weeks, months. I fixated on my shattered heart for a long time. Everywhere I looked, everywhere I walked, I was in danger of cutting myself on a fragment. Visitors and friends stepped delicately around the shards like navigating a minefield. Every once in a while I would think about tidying up. But the strewn slivers were a reminder both comforting and saddening. One day, I awoke to find the pieces were gone, as if they had … Continue reading Heartbreak. A prose poem.

Mental Health, Poetry, Writing8 Comments

Dead Men Deep. A poem.

Laidback DM

Hulls of broken ships, scattered like white noise. The sea bed, as black as a charcoal cellar. It welcomes sailors to their ends, bloated corpses sleeping in hammocks of crusted ribs, drunk on briny, antique wine. Coral wreaths and sawdust mouths; barnacles, the new tattoo that marks the passage from man to martyr. Here among the starfish and crustacean shells, unworried by the weather, seabed tales in whale song punctuate their empty dreams. Continue reading Dead Men Deep. A poem.

Mental Health, Poetry, Writing9 Comments

City of the Lost. A poem.

Laidback DM

I looked to the city. The lights were on, but nobody was home. I was alone. I expected dust devils to whirl as I walked through my world. Behind every door a Marie Celeste, of empty chairs and still full plates. Always alone. Wherever I looked reigned emptiness, yesterday’s news and mild distress. The dust and dirt of memories clung to my walls like tragedy. And then the lights went out. That was when I knew, without a doubt: I would always be alone. But what was always there, that I just couldn’t see, were all the souls surrounding me. Continue reading City of the Lost. A poem.

Mental Health, Writer Interrupted, Writing4 Comments

The Art of Observation, Character, Dialogue and Navel Gazing. An occasional post on writing.

Laidback DM

Do you suffer from depression? If so, you’ll know the Black Dog. If not, click here or here before reading on.  An Observation on Observation Every writer should be an observer. Every writer should watch the people around them, taking … Continue reading The Art of Observation, Character, Dialogue and Navel Gazing. An occasional post on writing.

Mental Health, Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

Clockwork. A poem.

Laidback DM

Causal expectations and experience will say that I will just gain nothing from this long and tedious day. My movement winding down, corroded, insecure, scattered springs, nuts and bolts and thoughts abound, unsure. Who’s to say my automation is better than before? Let cogs and gears grind on and on as I cogitate some more. I was once wound so tightly that I thought I’d never slow, but now my springs are stretched and worn, so tired and overblown. Tick tock, cries the clock, round and round it goes, this clockwork man keeps winding down, all the way to zero. Continue reading Clockwork. A poem.

Mental Health, Poetry, Writing21 Comments

The Near-Empty Bottle. A poem.

Laidback DM

I glanced drunkenly into the near-empty bottle. In the viscous alcohol I saw  my face, rippled and twisted  like a garish Mr. Hyde. I laughed at the carnival mirror, so accurately reflecting  every facet of my, oh, so petulant features. Every flaw and misconception brought to life in  errant ripples at the bottom of a pit, too deep to reach. I cast the bottle aside and hailed for another, in the hopes that I (eventually) might see  something far, far better. My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online … Continue reading The Near-Empty Bottle. A poem.

Mental Health, Poetry, Writing12 Comments

Nights. A poem.

Laidback DM

Nights staring into gloom. A mirror to reason, reflecting all your fallibilities and failing sensibilities. All your new found confidence, blown away like mist, before winds of uncertainty. Your moon is waning tonight. You are a crescent shell, threatening to pitch headlong into the drifting, darkening tide. Best sleep, before you persuade yourself otherwise. As you slowly sink, the ever-present gloom drinks up your half empty cup, all your remaining light, and leaves you bathed in Nights. Continue reading Nights. A poem.