Free Verse

Silence Screams

Silence wades in somber seas

Lonely in the darkened wood

Floating in a world of dancing grass

Soaring through the cloudy skies

Silence screams within the darkened mind

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Depression

The Weight of Feeling

It is a lonely thing, to feel.

To feel the weight of the world fall heavy on weak, slumped shoulders; the beautiful weight of mouths to feed and hearts to love.

How can a man keep his head up when life is so damn full of sorrows and pains?   How does a man keep moving when it hurts to live?  When every moment is a burden – another source of guilt and grief?

How can he escape the memories and the fears; of damnation and condemnation, of failures and fuckups – when he is haunted by the dogged pursuit of the Southern Hound, held captive within his over-active mind; how can he escape?  How can he fight an enemy who lives within?  How can he believe when faith has been stolen from him, when his capacity for belief has been acid-burned from his mind?

His soul is ash, his hope’s dissolved within the tonic his culture’s hubris; “pursuit of happiness” his Lilly-white ass.

He rages when all he wants to do is sleep.  He loathes when he longs with all his being to love and be loved.  He is a dead-man walking, eaten by his own sad zombie self.

What does it have to hurt so fucking much?

Mental Health

Madness. Madness, all.

I don’t fit in anywhere.  I’ve no connections, no history, no group, no tribe.  I’m alone and I hate it and I love it.  I am an odd duck no matter where I go or what I do or who I am.  Fuck the world…

On edge…  teetering on the cusp of breakdown…  I’ll never be rid of the darkness and madness…  my brain whispers at me, its constant buzzing drone is forever with me.  I can never be rid of it.  It will never leave me.

I know why folks attempt suicide.  To get people to finally pay some fucking attention.  Depression and anxiety is so passé.  No one hears.  Then, you finally attempt it, it’s “Oh, I see now, he is depressed.”  Ya, no shit mother-fuckers… People pay attention when there is blood streaming from the cuts on your arms.  Suddenly, it’s real.

My mind doesn’t work.  It’s all scattered and sporadic.  I have such a hard time with the details of things.  It keeps going to ultimate things, then getting lost, it flounders.  Too many voices, too many swirls, too many eddies and currents and flaccid fluctuations.  I cannot keep anything still.  It’s all fucking broken and I cannot escape from it.  Madness, all.  I’m lost, lost in the fog.  I am imprisoned by my mind…

Madness and misery.  Nothing makes sense.  Questions, All are Questions.  No one understands.  No one trusts me.  No one tries.  I am alone in the fog.  Alone in the dark.  Alone in the confusion and in the chaos.  It’s all broken and shattered.  Cracked.  Dust.  Constant reboots.  Perpetual confusion.  There is no constancy or consistency…

I crave silence of mind.  Just a modicum of peace…  It’s all a never-ending storm.  Until it’s not.  When it is again…

I am my enemy, and my enemy is me.

 

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Soundtrack of a Castaway

Soundtrack of a Castaway – Bring Me to Life

There is such a thing as a Living Death, and it is not just the purview of zombies and monsters.  It is a state created and fashioned in a lack of love and affection.  It is grown over the flaming pits, in a young mind threatened with hell’s eternal face-fuck.  It thrives on fear and anxious trepidation, and it feeds on the hopes and dreams of the damned.

At times and in many ways, pure Death would be preferable.  But to be alive to one’s death…  To have a death that eats at you, that feeds on you…

THAT is unbearable.

It is consciousness to one’s soul-less-ness.

The spirit lives in the heartless tundra, the mind bloats in the desert.

Bid my blood to run, indeed.

Bring Me to Life

How can you see into my eyes, like open doors
Leading you down into my core
Where I’ve become so numb, without a soul
My spirit’s sleeping somewhere cold
Until you find it there and lead it back home

Wake me up, wake me up inside I can’t wake up,
Wake me up inside, save me,
Call my name and save me from the dark, wake me up
Bid my blood to run, I can’t wake up
Before I come undone, save me
Save me from the nothing I’ve become

Now that I know what I’m without
You can’t just leave me
Breathe into me and make me real, bring me to life

Wake me up, wake me up inside I can’t wake up,
Wake me up inside, save me,
Call my name and save me from the dark, wake me up
Bid my blood to run, I can’t wake up
Before I come undone, save me
Save me from the nothing I’ve become

Bring me to life, I’ve been living a lie
There’s nothing inside, bring me to life

Frozen inside without your touch
Without your love, darling
Only you are the life among the dead

All this time, I can’t believe I couldn’t see
Kept in the dark, but you were there in front of me

I’ve been sleeping a thousand years it seems
I’ve got to open my eyes to everything

Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul

Don’t let me die here
There must be something wrong, bring me to life

Wake me up, wake me up inside I can’t wake up,
Wake me up inside, save me,
Call my name and save me from the dark, wake me up
Bid my blood to run, I can’t wake up
Before I come undone, save me
Save me from the nothing I’ve become

Bring me to life, I’ve been living a lie, there’s nothing inside
Bring me to life

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Quotes

The Land is Sore

…The white people (yapytu) never cared for the land or deer or bear. When we Indians kill meat, we eat it all up. When we dig roots, we make little holes. When we build houses, we make little holes. When we burn grass for grasshoppers, we don’t ruin things. We shake down acorns and pine nuts. We don’t chop down the trees. We only use dead wood.

But the white people (yapytu) plow up the ground, pull up the trees, kill everything.

The tree says, “Don’t. I am sore. Don’t hurt me.” But they chop it down and cut it up.

The spirit of the land hates them. They blast out trees and stir it up to its depths. They saw up the trees. That hurts them.

The people (Indians) never hurt anything, but white people (yapytu) destroy all. They blast rocks and scatter them on the ground.

The rock says, “Don’t. You are hurting me.” But the white people (yapytu) pay no attention.

When the people (Indians) use rocks, they take little round ones for their cooking. The white people dig deep long tunnels. They make roads. They dig as much as they wish. They don’t care how much the ground cries out.

How can the spirit of the Earth like the white man – yapytu? That is why God will upset the world — because it is sore all over. Everywhere the white man has touched it, it is sore.

– Kate Luckie

Quotes

The Dance of Pain

We can learn to dance in a seamless flow between two partners – pleasure and pain – embracing both, yet clinging to neither.  Going with the flow is like staying attuned to a background musical rhythm.  When this rhythm changes we change with it; we stay attuned even if our external circumstances alter.  When the dance of pleasure ends (as it will) we must bow gracefully and let it go.  When the dance of sorrow comes, we must accept its offer instead of sitting it out resentfully, waiting for a happier dance to come along.  Instead of contracting ourselves rigidly against sorrow and pain, we begin to surrender to it.  When we do this, we discover we are moving in harmony with a source transcending both pleasure and pain.

– Martina Lehane Sheehan

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