via Save the Poet! The All or the Nothing is my e-book of poetry. Click on the link above to find where you can download it. For poetry lovers and endangered poets everywhere! Cheers Steve 🙂
It’s been a few years since I disappeared in a puddle of self-limiting self-destruction. It seems my years of wallowing and despondency are coming to a close. That’s not to say my depression has gone away. My favourite black dog is right beside me as always, although his ever-present bark is lessened somewhat by theContinue reading “The road gone…but not forgotten.”
My self-hate: just enough to immolate my lowly self. My self-hate: the razor that can’t wait to open me. My self-hate: the only thing that takes me breaks me sends me hurtling headlong to my grave. The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To findContinue reading “My Self-hate. A poem.”
Why don’t you kill me? Release me from this misery? This womb that clings and grinds me down to tombstone dust and empty dreams, restrains me tight in chains of languid and bitter thoughts. Oh, but for a little death, a dance with angels or demons to portend. Not for me. With life and painContinue reading “Kill. A poem.”
Every once in a while, I find myself in a mental space I’d rather not be in. And it doesn’t seem to take much to get me there. It’s a sure sign of poor mental health when a clothes washing incident can bring you to the brink of despair. It’s not the incident itself, however,Continue reading “Meltdowns happen.”
I often ideate about endless sleep, when the lights are dim, and my thoughts are deep. I sought it once, but I screwed it up (if I wait forty years, I’ll get what I want). My new long term goal: stay awake for my son, keep him wide-eyed at the wheel, toContinue reading “New Goal. A poem.”
When the bone wails in time to my beating, breaking heart, and the blood curdles along with my myopic tears. I will reach for thee and mark my emboldened flesh in your honour. I will scour my skin indelicately so that I might feel again, so that I might wallow in my weariness and paintContinue reading “Cut. A poem.”
I am ALIVE. I see all that is and was, every incongruous and congruous method and selection, tied and untied from destiny’s disaffected strings. I am ALIVE. I have dwelled in the shadow of death’s supple embrace, where carbon monoxide bonds easily with erythrocytes, in a long-term family reunion. I have turned away in regretContinue reading “Alive. A poem.”
I’m driving home, too fast, as always, around curves on too narrow roads. My headlights pierce the darkness, painting the surrounding trees in lily white. Each trunk beckons lovingly, a world-stopping kiss and a permanent embrace. I am so tempted by each offer lying just beyond the guard rail, in wood and leaves and twistedContinue reading “Corners. A poem.”
Some daysI want to open my wristsAnd let them breath in reverseTake the irony of my existencePaint it in the colourOf lonelinessEmptinessHopelessnessAnd watch it flowSlowlySurelySluggishlyDown the porcelain sinkThat holds all my pointless dreamsAnd wash them awayMaybe thenI'll find sweet reliefAmongst the ashes Choose life. Every time. Don't give in to suicide. Life is too preciousContinue reading “Amongst the Ashes. A poem.”
Almost three years ago, everything changed. I lost my family, my job, my reputation, my possessions, my whole world. Everything came crashing down and I took the one step I thought could solve it. I attempted to take my life. Carbon Monoxide poisoning was my weapon of choice. Poor research was my saviour. I sawContinue reading “Hate Life. Live Life.”
He shined On every stage A voice that made you Take notice A guitar Burning and churning Changing lives Through music But inside Thoughts and pain Burning and churning Shadows and rain Low Black hole sun Dragging down Crushing him Who could see What would come To be To take a life So unexpectedly IntoContinue reading “Chris. A poem.”
This poem is a true story.
If you’re feeling, or thinking, this way – choose life.
Every time I drop my teenage son off at his mother’s after staying with me for the weekend, he waves me off with a look of intense poignancy that tears me apart. He has stayed over almost every weekend since he was six months old. I am his father and his friend. And I’m also guilt-stricken because I can’t be there for him all the time, the way I think I should be.
A few years back, before I became Christian, I fell on very dark times and attempted to take my life. It’s not a story I’m proud of (although when I think about it, it is a somewhat black comedy of errors). Suicidal thoughts are something that many people with depression face every day.