Tag Archives: mental

Habromania

you’re the worst kind

of mental disturbance

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an overreactive type

of chemical imbalance

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you’re the bad version

of a daydream in winter

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a paroxysmal state of

transience in evermore.

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The Division

Let me count the ways you kill me;

1.) You carved promises at the notches of my brittle bones, mercilessly enthralling and hypnotising me under the anaesthetic assurance that everything was fine, that I was fine, and that I wouldn’t ever have to destroy myself again; but all the while, you crushed the very foundations beneath my suspended feet and made heaven shatter all around me like an ethereal motion sickness. And as if that wasn’t enough, you set everything on fire and watched this wretched phoenix turn to listless ashes, never to rise again; a demented conflagration.

2.) You promised me for better or for worse, but as I tried to find new names for the shade of red in my lips, you forgot about the obscene sickness that’s violently heaving inside my compromised chest and without so much as a twinge of second chances or point-blank hesitation, you injected every indistinct symptom known and unknown to man, turning my shaky breaths to crystalline lilacs and my selfish ribs to impure glass. I asked for a cure, and instead I received a despicable panacea, a myriad riot of plagues that irreparably devastated my system, ripping me to irreversible shreds. “You can’t get hurt if all you feel is hurt, right?”

3.) I’ve got hands like houses, and you rejected my severed hospitality as you broke down every locked door and deceptive boundary like it was nothing; like I was nothing. I constantly find myself lost in complicated syncopes, as I’m trapped spiraling and crawling back to the same self-sustaining cycles of parabolic grief and hypertensive schizophrenia, predicting premonitions that never came true. This eternal winter freezing over my bloodline is stitched together by a million blizzards and snowstorms conspiring exquisitely at once, but this difficult tantrum of a weather is not a tribulation to you, is it? Your cold temper is intolerable, a thousand suns melding together and detonating convulsively in the empty vacuum of space, and there’s no one else around to hear me scream one last time. I wanted to burn. You took it too far.

4.) Were you even sorry? Did you even feel a single taste of contrition when you watched my starving, pathetic soul grapple for life at the very nave of that decimated altar, asking for the silhouetted universe to fall on my back so that it wouldn’t be my fault, nor yours, that everything got screwed over? Did you see what I’ve done, just so I wouldn’t be what you’ve become? I couldn’t find my way back on the ground, so I swallowed my pride like pried coffin nails for the sake of a more poignant memory to remember; retribution heals what time cannot. Yet now I close my reckless eyes and softly coalesce in sadistic plumes of the miserable discourse you call an intravenous love, and I beg, and I beg. Were you even sorry at all?

5.) You are me, and I am you. I have no one. You are no one. When you lived, I died; and when you died, I along with you. I called it genocide. They called it desperation. For I am me, and you are you. There was no one else. They called it suicide. I call it salvation.

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split-second thoughts in a night that never seems to end

I float there, transcend time, I wanna capture it accurately
I wanna know what the color of the blood was
Spilling out from the tarp onto the concrete
I wanna write it all down so I can always remember
If you could see it up close how could you ever forget?
How senseless death, how precious life
I wanna be there when the bullet hit…

~*~

the room seems to get colder. is it just me or am i dying?

fingers locked on empty biro, waiting for something bad to happen

“what are you so scared of?” the bones in my body scream

like i wasn’t simply bleeding, like it wasn’t just a dream

well, i’m scared that i’m useless and i’m fragile and i’m weak

and i can’t ever justify myself for everything that i feel

i’m scared that i don’t know what my brain is telling me

that i need some medication just to feel a little more sorry

and i don’t want to submerge and i don’t want to stay up

they tell me to cut it out but instead all i hear is cut

and i’ve had enough of scars and i’ve had enough of crying

but the windows are all dark and i’m still alone not trying

to change what i can conceal at the tip of my tongue

and the words that i’m struggling, still struggling to understand

and i create these bold distractions and pretend for a while

that hell isn’t a few steps over, ready to greet me with a smile

but when the truth comes crashing down, it’s all i can do not to crack

not to break myself overthinking and bend until it hurts my back

because there comes a point where enough is not enough

and the walls start closing in and the ceiling starts to laugh

so i step outside and wish for rain, but just like everything else

i ever wished for and wanted, it doesn’t come true to end this hell

and so i gaze at the stars to comfort me and simply calm me

and so i gaze at the stars to keep my mind off suicide

and remind me of the times when i didn’t have to wonder

why i look at the distant lights in those times when i remember

that the dark is nothing to be scared of except when i’m inside

waiting for the final answer that turns out to be a lie

as my coffee’s getting cold and my skin is getting tighter

i’m suffocating with each breath and each burn on the cigarette lighter

my twitches getting frantic and my pulse is a heart attack

beating to rhythms of “when will someone come to take me back?”

no, i can’t sing to save my life; i can’t even save my life

‘cause i’ve spent it all on daily lessons about wasting out the fight

and i’m still standing outside losing, when the sun overtakes the horizon

with the only force left in the world and the energy to go on

but i’ll wait for the end, even if that takes more than a million years

until i’ve turned into a monument and crumbled but the ending isn’t near

because i’ve contemplated and i’ve meditated and i’ve prayed to every god

but my eyes are a little blurrier and my palms impaled on metal rods

striking lightning, never raining, an automatic impulse sleeping in my bed

everything sounds a little too schizophrenic when they’re all talking in my head

so when i finally find the strength to step back into that empty room so cold

i found that the temperature was the same deadly dull, and i still do as i’m told

and i’m still tired of everything even if everything’s just a fictional retelling

in my head, in my sleep, as i dream, as i wake, as i live…is it just me or am i dying?

~*~

I felt the burden of murder
It shook the earth to the core
Felt like the world was collapsing
Then we heard him speak
“Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?
Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?”

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The Girl With The White Bracelets

Oh, pretty girl, keep batting your eyes
‘Cause when you breathe you lie, lie
Oh, pretty girl, you better think twice
‘Cause second chances are rarer than I
How can we forget who we have become?
I’ll give it all up, please wake up
Every breath you take is a lie…

~*~

She asked for death, and who was I to refuse

She got sick of the radio and wanted the noose

She didn’t want another dance, just the last one

She sold all the bullets she had just to buy a gun

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She was sick and she was tired of feeling pathetic

She didn’t like the smell of the hospital antiseptics

She was the class-act patient but she was no victim

She fixed her wounds but got worse off and broken

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She screamed for mercy to taste all their cruelty

She was running away from all their emergency

She emerged from hell, to be thrown back again

She asked for demise at the tip of her bloody pen

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She tried every method and every single execution

She went by the blades, gas, a wrongful transfusion

She beat her body in bruised painting of a night sky

She didn’t look for any help and nobody asked why

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She was the girl that I still dream about in my head

She was the girl I wanted to save from this deep red

She was the girl begging for this chance, but instead

She’s the girl who is restrained and laying on my bed.

~*~

How did you ever see me broken?
Well, you forced me to find out everyday
Did you ever see me open?
Well, you forced me to find out everyday…

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anatomical dissection: brain

what hurts more,

remembering to forget

or forgetting to remember?

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you count all the wins

and all the pyrrhic losses

that take your victories under

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what hurts more,

the scars on your shoulders

or the scars inside your mind?

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invisible to the naked eye

but a succumbing force that

makes you lose what you’ll find

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what hurts more,

staying for the sake of leaving

or living for the sake of staying?

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lock the pain up in your room

and hope this house burns down

with you still trapped inside, crying

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what hurts more,

all the words that they said

or the words you never spoke?

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sticks and stones don’t break bones

but splints and cement puts them back

quietly mending what you always broke

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what hurts more,

knowing too much of everything

or drowning in your own ignorance?

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scourge for knowledge, miss for bliss

drain the oceans and fill up the abyss

self-hatred fighting your self-defiance

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what hurts more,

this cold logical ideology

or the lying sentimental truth?

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it’s a constant push and pull

of devastating dreams and riled reality

inspiring like the rabbit inspires the wolf

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what hurts more,

overthinking things again

or not thinking about it at all?

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a mindless monologue

The blood, the blood, the blood of the lamb
Is worth two lions, but here I am
And I slept in last night’s clothes and tomorrow’s dreams
But they’re not quite what they seem…

~*~

i need some therapy

and a hundred seconds alone

i need room to breathe

and support from the bleed

i need to stay silent

and talk my problems out

find another friend to bother

and do nothing but joke around

i need to admit something’s wrong

that i can’t do this by myself

i need to keep myself going

and be just a little more strong

i need bitter medication

i don’t know why i stopped

guess i don’t want to be an addict

my brain feels fogged and rough

i need to hurt myself less

throw away my blades and insecurities

i don’t want to keep companions

and end up in a fit of jealousy

i need to absolve all my mistakes

to stop hurting the people around me

always on the brink of an apology

i need to stop being—and feeling—sorry

i need to channel my thoughts safer

but i just don’t have the skill or talent

i can’t make anyone any promises

and my future is scary and hellbent

i need to keep on dreaming

but not too much to drown in the tides

i need to stop worrying neurotically

about what’s what and the right of rights

i need to be me and more than this

i want to figure myself out before it’s too late

to be assured of myself, the things i can do

to provide myself with no more of hate

i know i can never undo the long-term damage

caused by my self-destructive ways

but i know that i could always be better

than what i think i deserve—i need to change.

~*~

I can move mountains
I can work a miracle, work a miracle
I’ll keep you like an oath
“May nothing but death do us part…”

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Chase Atlantic

For you, I chased down atlantic until it was drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, you were thirsty.

Xans, Oxy, gram, adderall, molly, vicodin, ketamine, codeine, amphetamine, heroin, every medication legal and illegal you selfishly overdosed on like it’s the sweetest candy, drugs and money fucking everything up, riding the waves, breathing in the ozone layer and craving the vaporous atmosphere, until all you could hear are birds singing at midnight and all your blank glazed eyes could see where pink shadows coalescing in the basement and the sound of your own synesthetic undersea voice, sewn up into crude stitches before it shatters soundlessly against the restless pastel ghosts; and you find out you were uncomfortably lying on your back in the bedroom floor all along, staring at the unlit ceiling dripping what you thought were your own tears but turned out to be rainwater, dial tone screeching your garbled songs, trying to call nobody at half past four in the morning, worn-down carpet igniting the smoke alarms with your interminable vices. I could only wish to hell that I was there to put it out.

There was a certain elegant delicacy in your tactlessly constructed words, soft beatnik aspersion and aggressive indie slurs romancing and entrancing my chilled spine, humming saxophone amid the alluring amalgamation of incoherent voices intertwining together into a strange, tangible, panicking tranquil. It was an art form in itself, inimitable, one of a kind, scattered accentuation your personal intricate signature. Every careless lilt about the dangerous pseudonymous girls you slept with last night, Angie, Cassie, Roxy, and the pill-popping pharmacists you’ll hold up with a gun as soon as the sun hits tomorrow. All these unsettling courtesies set in three parts of pastel grey and explicit roses, the dalliance and the nostalgia of everything, you were speaking in a foreign language only the truly sick in the head could properly understand, and the way you talked about all the mental pressure and self-esteem and choking anxiety so goddamn beguilingly, the way you talked about addiction as if you weren’t an addiction in itself, the way you just fucking aren’t, it got me overdosing on the panoply panache and sovereign shit on your bedside, but I was so into it.

How many times have you made my pulse beat when it was no longer mine? Every single afternoon, I wake up with a stabbing jolt like a guillotine’s rope pulled tight against my throat, gasping and desiring desperately for more, more of your prevarications. It was a talk show tactic, and you were the host telling me to talk slow and tell no lies, and I was your prize trophy, spilling my secrets and picking my battles cautiously, even though I knew that you were probably lying to me all along. The world was on your shoulders, angels hissing temptations under your skin, and we danced to the beat of your laughter and talked endless miles of film spiels about friends and no friends, gravity and good vibes, church walls and dancing in the dark with the devil, indiscretions and junkie stories high on adrenaline and dopamine, driving too fast and run over by the cops and swimming and thrashing in paradise until we’re so much higher than before, and everything was rhapsodic…until you hit the trigger and got me begging on my bleeding knees again. I’m scratching my nails, shivering madly, abusing my liver, and tearing the veins off my dead-ass heart as you killed my sanity, and baby I was only 23.

I’m obsessive. You said hold your breath, you’ll save me from the fading injections and we’ll run away right here to the underside of the world, and I won’t need to miss you and your anchor tattoo. And fuck it, but I believed all your twisted promises so fervently. I didn’t expect to fall instantaneous victim for such a scrupulous stratagem, this alternative relativity of drugs and parties not my accustomed niche, fucking up this whole thing. I was married to the screaming voices that serenade me everyday and haunt me every night, and I was theirs to render completely deaf into freedom; until you came out of nowhere and divorced me from the nightmares, and you incarcerated me—you made me even worse. You’re a psychopathic fringe wearing a smile on your face and holding a knife in your hand, you’re becoming a work of art. You don’t look too sane when you act like that, and babe, you won’t live too long with a mind like that. I was always fastidious about the taste of serotonin that I place against my lips, but even though it’s fire I’m kissing now, I’ve already been burnt, I fucking have. And I love counting the cigarette stains in my fragile marred skin, sepia-shaded nicotine tattooed permanently between my fingertips, branding me with your whispered name. My parents say I’m crazy, but I only wanna be buried six feet under your bed, ready to meddle about and smoke the cancerous stars away with you anytime. They say be rational about these things, but I stopped being reasonable the moment I listened to your drugstore symphonies and drowned in your cheap perfume. This chemical destruction is beautiful. I’ll keep it up, and I’ll keep riding the waves, crashing into you once more. And why stop at all? Okay is all I know right now. Mama I’m sorry, but reality’s boring.

For you, I’ll chase down atlantic until I’m drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, I’ll be thirsty for your eyes.

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The Drama Queens Called, They Want Their Bullshit Back

You can call me little Miss Piss with a kiss
And after all this the rest is all bullshit
And you love it, you love it
You love it, you love it…

~*~

Oh blah blah blah

You think you’re so special

Doing what thousands do

Glorified, you’re fucking mental

It’s satisfying, isn’t it?

When there’s no point to it

All you’re doing is being an attention whore

Doing it for the sake of bullshit

And I’m so very glad

That I handed you the keys

That would lock you in this transgression

And you didn’t say thanks or please

But it’s fine, it’s fine

I enjoy hearing your little chatter

When you’re crying out a fucking puddle

Then say you’re drowning underwater

So blah blah blah and etcetera

Good girl gone bad, oh, ain’t she just special?

But beneath all your overblown hysteria

You’re just another pitiful pathetic liar.

~*~

Say no to brains, it’s a no-brainer
Lowest common denominator
It pays the bills to be this sterile
Fuck me now, rip me off later
And you love it, you love it
After this the rest is all bullshit…

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Post-traumatic, past traumatic

There’s a darkness inside of this crackheaded mind
Locked inside this asylum, I’m done
All my secrets are safe, so if you summon fate
Can you read through the lines on my tongue?

~*~

It’s idyllic now, this.

These last few hours have been nothing but stress and transgressions and fucking up constantly, sensibly, emotionally, physically, in everything I do and touch, there is no clear remedy for the disease that’s ravaging like a complete animal and destroying my veins. A sinking feeling in my stomach, a throbbing migraine in my temples and at the back of my head, a constant trembling that only gets worse when I try to stop it, general heaviness in the fucking everywhere of my anatomy, and a completely fucked-up mental status, like that was even possible for me at this point. I’ve been drowning myself in distractions, staying awake for the hell of it even though my neurotic mind is damn near killing me, doing foolish things and repeating the same idiocy again and again and fucking again, hoping that the third, or the fourth, or the millionth time’s a charm, and maybe life will cut me some goddamn slack already.

But no. It just keeps getting worse each time.

Perhaps that’s what I want. Perhaps I just love being miserable too much to even stop. Maybe I have always been the sick masochist I’ve always been jestingly accused of; the pain is my drug and the hallucination is reality. It makes me feel human to feel something, even if that something is the negative picture of paradise. I crave for the acrid sensations, I lust for the acidic vindications, I vain for the adamant desperation, and I hurt myself to feel desensitised, to feel the adrenaline and the dopamine that pollutes my mind with a hazy cloud, but my body keeps limiting the drip, so I have to cheat behind its back and increase my uptake. More wounds. More pain. More doing shit to make me feel like crap. Less thinking. More, more, more, more, more, much more self-torture.

I’m fucking avaricious. I’m asking for it, really, I am.

Funny to say, but it’s been a while since I truly and absolutely felt like this. Like I’m completely losing everything, every part of me that keeps me alive, I’m losing it all and I’m losing in life. It seems highly ironic, almost cruelly hilarious, and completely unbelievable now that only yesterday, I was hanging out alone by the stairwell, taking in the breathtaking sight of nature and basking in the cool zephyr of the balanced weather of sun and solace alike, singing whimsical bubbly songs to the wind that will carry it to no one, and soliloquising about my goals, my dreams, my ambitions, and my future, the way an innocent child speaks about jumping on a rocketship invention and reaching for the stars someday soon. I was so hopelessly happy for once, so tongue-numbingly happy, so, and I was so desperate to cling on to that rare shred of optimism, that fugacious taste of saccharine, that diamond in the coalmine, when I honestly and sincerely thought that I was going to get somewhere someday.

That is, until the stars come crashing down around the naïve, unknowing child.

It’s strangely comforting somehow, feeling like this. I’ve always been astral projecting, an odd end floating around and taking everything in with barely a faint wispy touch and an evanescent lilt of my pen. But when the depression sets in, I feel solid. I feel like an actual corporeal matter, someone that has both eyes straight towards reality’s event horizon and both feet on the hard ground. That’s fucked-up, isn’t it? to only feel like you have a place in this world when you don’t want to take the place. But with it, there’s no more fucking around, no false optimism, no happy candy-cane dreams that turn out to be a complete disappointment like I am. I’ve never been more vulnerable, more gullible, more susceptible to the demonic little beings crawling inside my mind, pushing me to break and lead myself out of the cliff. Every bone in my body contracts against it, and my other self screams no, but my breaking point is only broken glass held together by bleeding hands. It’s already shattered. The demons can easily shatter through it.

Ironically, the fuckers get me more than anyone else. It’s working. It really is.

I’ve started out with frustration and anger. I’ve yelled and screamed out to whatever nonexistent god that’s listening and pounded on my fists on the wall until my fingers complain. I tried to retrieve what’s already eradicated, eliminated vanished completely into the aether, gone forever. I finally stopped when I discovered it’s no use, what’s done is done, and I turn into an uncaring, apathetic sociopath just sitting there on autopilot, taking everything in like I’ve just taken a shitload of Valium and it’s kicking in like the slow motion part in an old black and white movie. I just don’t give a fuck anymore. So I reach, I reach for the blade to feel, I write down a million words that get erased in a matter of seconds, I even consider taking tranquilising pills just so I could sedate myself. And then finally sets in the full, sinking burden of it all, when all the possibilities and consequences set in like an anchor in my stomach, and the tears begin to mix with blood. The crying, now that’s truly the most pathetic part of all.

And then I do it all over again. Good job, bellend.

It’s way past morning now. I still can’t sleep. I’m confused and paranoid. My neurotic mind is on overdrive. I’m overthinking about everything. I’m thinking about turning all those useless everythings into a single, voided, black hole nothing, more seriously than I ever have in any singular point in my fucking waste of a bad life. I know what I could do. I know what I shouldn’t do.  I know what I might do. I don’t know what to do. It’s all monochrome from here. All coin tosses, dividing lines, wrong or more wrong, it’s all up to me to fucking screw up once more. It’s oscillating. I have to get a grip. I have to lose hold. I have to forget. I have to regret. I have to decide. I have to ignore. I have to change. I have to stay still. I have to sleep. I have to wake up. I have to live. I have to die.

I have to. I have to.

~*~

Oh, it’s so traumatic!
I’ve got these secrets I keep
Is it obvious
They’ve got me down on my knees
Yeah, just let me go!
I keep reliving the scene
Oh, it’s so traumatic, traumatic…

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“I’ll fill my pen with blood from the sink”

I wrote down this note to save my own fucking life

Shut the burning doors close, pull down the blinds

I’m a menace to the dripping rain from the window

These shots of tonic are almost as cold as my pillow

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Blurred faces begin to morph into demented sharks

And the stars stuck between their teeth tear me apart

Veins strung taut on emerald lines and silver mercury

I’ll splash your black world with reddened memories

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For it’s never astute, the drugs I snorted kill my brain

My converse shoes are gritting with sieves in a strain

I abandoned all my sense behind the rearview mirror

Along with my good luck charms and my paling pallor

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Because shit’s never absolving, and nothing’s ever fair

From the fucks I failed to give to the way I do my hair

Atoning my punishment with cold fingers of whiskey

And sever both my hands if I’m feeling a little too tipsy

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So darling, just close your plastic hypodermic eyes shut

And listen to my deep breathing with shallow skin cuts

But pray don’t look into mine, or you will never wake up

Let our redolent pain seep through like stains of teardrops

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I wrote down this song just to say a beautiful fucked goodbye

If it was any worse than better, the readers would proclaim it a lie

So shut my twisted heart off, pull away my broken finger joints

I was never going through the veil, but without it what’s the point?

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