Tag Archives: disturbing

The Diary of a Schizophrenic in an Asylum

(An attempt to see the world in the eyes of a schizophrenic. I greatly apologize for this mess of a poem I made.)

~*~

I am awake now.

My mind is in a constant state of disarray.

Shambles.

Entropy.

Torn to pieces.

Like pieces of paper in the wind.

I find no other purpose to exist in this world

Besides the Devil and His whims.

Why am I bothering to even write this down?

It won’t even matter at all.

My life is just invalid

My existence is a sham

I was just a terrible accident.

I don’t want to live.

I wasn’t meant to live at all.

But maybe I was?

Did Lucifer just want me to suffer

In this horrible, horrible world?

A mad man, that Morningstar was

Mad, mad, madder than me

But surprisingly a brilliant chap as well

Sent me to this place, yes He did.

Smart man. Smart move.

Where am I?

Am I dreaming? Am I dead already?

Carked it? Rotting off?

Infested with maggots at this very moment?

Where is this place anyways?

It can’t possibly be Hell.

It’s too white. Too clean.

Too clean for an impure man like me.

It needs more red. More black.

More inferno. More darkness.

Heaven?

Pure doesn’t exist in this filthy world.

It’s making my eyes hurt.

My eyes are hurting too much.

Blood. I see blood.

It’s bleeding off the damn walls.

Who’s to clean that up now?

Not I. I have enough blood on my hands.

No. It’s gone now.

It’s been replaced with black butterflies now.

They’re fluttering off into the window.

Goodbye, butterfly.

Who sent you to me?

It’s Asmodeus again, is it?

Oh, he’s the devil, He is.

That blighter is messing with my eyes again.

Or was it the man in white again?

He calls himself a “doctor”.

He says he could “help me recover”.

Ha! Such foreign, made-up words

Diving at the tip of his tongue.

What a sneaky, nosy, pesky pathetic liar.

Asking me questions like I couldn’t see

His true form at all.

He’s a messenger of the angels.

An advocate of the enemy.

He’s always trying to confuse me

With his sharp, sharp tongue

And his metal instruments of torture.

Ha. But he’ll never get me.

Constant vigilance.

He never will.

Who’s that I spot in a corner?

Oh no. It’s her again.

The faerie woman clad in black.

She’s back. No.

She’s the worst deceiver of them all.

I thought I killed her off.

The knife I used is still lodged in her back.

Pus and blood spurting off the wound.

She’s smiling at me with her razor teeth.

And stared with her empty eye sockets.

I feel utter shock.

Confusion.

Then madness.

The woman ripping at the seams

Exploding on my head

Tearing through my mind

Like the starved animal it is.

Faerie, faerie,

Why are you so cold-hearted and cruel?

Don’t hurt me.

I’m just a victim taken by the people in white.

The evil bastard angels.

No!

Not again.

Discord.

Too much discord.

They saw her.

They’re acting up again.

They’re rioting

And shouting

And begging for mercy

The voices in my head are.

Pounding through the walls of my skull

Rather hungrily

Such inconsiderate people

Their endless noise-making

Is giving me a headache

Something terrible.

I want to make them stop already.

I want to make the woman leave.

What should I do?

What could I do?

Nothing.

It’s inevitable.

I can’t do anything at all.

My hands are bound

My soul is shattered clean

My mind is unraveled

Like a fragile spider thread in a spool

Used as a noose.

The faerie woman smiles at me again.

Teeth flashing like fireflies, flash, flash

She whispers delicately “Nunc abire”

And with her bony hands covers my eyes.

I’m done for. Goodbye.

And so I scream and wail

Like a wounded animal in great pain

Though there is no one to hear me fall

And so I cry, like an oncoming storm

Until she envelops me and I can cry no more.

.

.

.

.

.

I am awake now.

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Filed under Poetry

A Special Place

(A poem with a really sick twist. Sorry if it’s not really clear. But I digress. On with the poem~)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The rustling and dancing of the leaves

Sways with our movements

As we clamber up the White Mountain

To wash away our remorse and pain

.

We see where the weird, grayish mountain stands

With its white, strange-looking sticks and stones

And we all run towards it, hand in hand

To the place we call our own

.

All our problems disappear in that simple place

We dance with the movement of the winds

As it cuts through our skins

We play catch, hide and seek, and chase

With no one to tell us what to do

We are free, we can be true

We chase along the pale, cracked stones

We run and run, knowing we’re not alone

And we finally come down the red-stained path

Tired and dirty, but happy, we all laugh

.

A few years later, the place was finally forgotten

We grew up, and had our own lives then

The years passed by, and the white mountain crumbled

Back to where it came from

Then our special place was finally gone

.

I had asked my mother about it

And she responded rather slow

She sighed, pursed her lips, and told me what she knows

I wasn’t expecting that much about it

But all her revelations shocked my whole soul

.

“That wasn’t actually a mountain.” She said

But we didn’t want you to know

That the special place you were playing on

Were actually bones of the dead.”

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