Tag Archive | depression

Keep It To Yourself

Emotions, when unpleasant, can sever the soul
From connection to all that can give it relief.
When they’re kept to oneself loneliness creeps inside.
There is ample confusion that faith is denied
That things will start to improve. There is no belief
That something not accounted for can make one whole.

I could just cut them off if they cause so much grief
That I can’t function normally. Yet if I do
They will surface again in ways much more severe.
If I share them with someone then I might appear
To be hopelessly troubled. And it may be true.
I would hope that my suffering now will be brief.

It is tough to feel burdened, lonely, and depressed
When such feelings as joy and bliss memory holds.
No control do I have over things I once had,
And whatever life shows to me makes me more sad.
I do not have a stake in just how life unfolds.
For right now I have nothing but pain to digest.

The byproduct of waste is what I must release.
It becomes grossly toxic and causes distress
In the lower gut chakra. If I hold it in
I will suffer a breakdown. That would be a sin.
Psychic irregularity I must address
As it happens or else I will never know peace.

Trivial Pursuits

Jul7

It’s seen simply as trivial… all that I do
From sun up ‘til sundown and the time in between.
Though to me it’s important, and I shouldn’t care
That the gift that I offer is not meant to share
With any but this troubled self. Why am I seen
As the fool who does nothing? Am I ugly too?

If folks took me more seriously would I be
In this hellish predicament victimized so?
I suspect that the answer is all up to me.
I am friendly to no one because none can see
I’ve a genuine purpose. It just doesn’t show.
I’ve become quite embittered, yet who can agree?

Someone started a joke in the form of a game.
Too late into it I find no reason to laugh.
Maybe I’m not supposed to. I feel I should cry
While awaiting complete withdrawal when I die.
I came here not to play, so the best epitaph
Is a statement of substance to honor my shame.

People don’t want to know me or read what I write
Because I’m lacking something. Clearly I’ve no clue.
It remains a big secret to me yet it’s fun
To the world and its players. For me there is none.
I feel I’m being punished, but what did I do
To deserve the aloneness? Why am I uptight?

When depression evolves into anger it’s seen
As a worthwhile improvement. I’ve given up hope
That getting any better can do me much good.
I’ve been at life a long time. Its blatant falsehood
Leaves no meaning where I can successfully cope
With abject isolation in my sick routine.

Take The Time

Jun23

If existence is hopeless what sense does it make
To reach out to another when I’m put on hold
And rebuked by technology? Life is too cruel.
There are so many sources who all have a tool
For reducing true spirit to things that are cold.
It’s a thin line of crisis. I fear it will break.

You can all handle challenge. I Must Take The Time
To submerge into darkness to know what is there.
It’s the last place to find and to feel anything.
The dull ache I will tolerate if it can bring
But a glimmer of hope. Truly life isn’t fair.
It’s instead a fine portrait of hell in its prime.

Compromising is futile. No tender have I.
To negotiate living I come unprepared.
Possibility haunts me as I weigh the pain
Of the distant disaster I lived through in vain.
As I’m stuck firm in place with my soul running scared
Unresolved ideation is but a faint cry.

Mood Ride

Apr19

Swinging is the momentum prescribed by the mood.
It provides ample solace and blends out the flow
Of wide-ranging emotions and nature’s relief
From a world I can’t face now. I have firm belief
That refreshing my consciousness helps me to grow.
Until I’m feeling right again, I must seclude.

Some days can be a rough ride. Others… not so much.
Sensitive to the obvious and subtle things,
I reflect on events as they’re damned to occur
While I’m freed from exalting the life I prefer.
What a bright new horizon aloneness time brings!
What my spirit requires is that I keep in touch.

Seeking total detachment is hardly worthwhile
Since I am here to live life while fully awake
To partake of the drama as part of each day.
My solution is functional. It helps me stay
Somewhat more in alignment. The ride that I take
Gives me instant contentment and often a smile.

Subjective Concerns

Apr3

Should my work become viral… that fever ensue?
This delightful delirium dared to be caused
Is the dream of my ego. What value have I?
At best, I’m called a wordsmith. Can that satisfy
What I feel I deserve? Should my effort be paused
Due to lack of ‘the basics’ as well as a clue?

What if I get the illness and can’t pay my bills?
Will my creditors know then that I do exist?
And should I lose my life, do I dream of that now?
Contemplation eternal is soothing somehow.
If survival accurses me should I persist
In this thing that I’m doing? The thought gives me chills.

In contempt of a rational means of access
To the ways of the spirit, have I made the choice
To be languid in leisure? Today, as it seems,
I am not quite in touch with my most cherished dreams.
There’s no reason to prove to the world I’ve a voice.
I can suck my own dick. There’s no crowd to impress.

My subjective concerns are not only my own.
Fear becomes human nature and how it evolves
Through processions of eons. My dark memories
Of past blunders while soulless cannot give me ease
Nor can they honor daylight. Consciousness dissolves
Every dream ever spat upon. I live alone.

Negative Conclusions

Jan5

Learn To Cry! Your prescription disqualifies me
From the positive outlook evasive to some.
Is my vision distorted? Do you know the cause?
Can the clue to what is now be found in what was?
Stick a dick in my sick mind. See if you will cum.
Fear and doubt plague the present. How can I be free?

Try to find some compassion? Untether my heart
From the grief, pain and sorrow to others I’ve caused
In my fight to be righteous in my twisted ways.
Give me hope for the future. Bullshit me with praise.
Seeking outside connection, true progress is paused.
If I must go on living, I need a new start.

My conclusions are baseless while dwelling within
This homemade dissolution I may well deserve.
Hopelessness is an option. I need but one more.
May my life provide many that I can explore?
Negativity teaches, if I have the nerve,
To prepare for its lesson then let it begin.

Do I Need A Co-Writer?

Nov2

Hanging on past my world worth, I seek not my own
Group of lighthearted losers. Alone I decay.
One misspoken raw truth or a social faux pas
Once a day should not get me involved with the law
Nor should it take my birthright to be here away.
Nature does still support me in its Twilight Zone.

Gnats don’t help with my writing. They get in the way.
I’ll assume that it’s personal then take offense.
Their obscene aeronautics hijacks attention
Even if there’s no light source. They do this for fun.
They are faster than I, so it makes perfect sense
That for such a transgression I shall make them pay.

While in flight, I can spray them with something that burns.
Rubbing alcohol works well. A delicate mist
Knocks them flat on their asses. I take much delight
Because now they’re so dazed they can’t put up a fight.
When they start fucking with me, I cannot resist
Brushing up on my mayhem against all concerns.

As they frantically gasp and flail after they fall
I now master the last laugh and take back some pride.
As I watch them grow weaker, I’ll spray them again.
They’ve messed with the wrong creature among insane men.
As I see that they’re hopeless, I feel good inside.
After that, I will kill them. My wrath isn’t small.

Do I draw such contempt from those of my own kind?
Do I act out in consequence of being cursed
As a highflying nuisance disrupting the show?
That I know nothing of it causes me to grow.
Someday I’ll cease my wars, but right now I’m submersed
In one of my own making. It’s all in the mind.

Development Of A Loser

Sep26

A thought is like four heartbeats abreast on a line.
At least that’s how my loser mind thinks things should be.
Anapestic Tetrameter is what you see.
But alas, folks would swear it’s not coming from me.
And it doesn’t take much for most folks to agree
That if someone else wrote this, then it would be fine.

I do sound like a loser. Self-pity is one
Of my grossest achievements. I can do that well.
What reward do I get from it? All is in vain.
Yet I continue doing it. Am I insane?
We are all of earth’s substance and part of its spell.
Would it please a sore loser if he were outdone?

How do losers begin life? …Perhaps in a shell
Where the world remains outside ‘til it barges in
And disturbs peace contained there because that’s the way…?
Are there too many losers with too much to say?
If you had just ignored my original sin
Perhaps I’d not be sharing your gift of my hell.

Hello, Cruel World…

Aug19

What I offer to this world, this word doesn’t want.
That it’s been such a struggle is more than a clue.
How does it all affect me? My bowels are a mess.
I’ve made light of my issues, but now I confess
That I don’t have an inkling for what I should do.
I came with a few talents, but nothing to flaunt.

As it seems, the dark cloud hangs not over my head.
I am fully engulfed in it. None can I see
As a source of fulfillment. I cry right out loud…
Have I done anything for which I can be proud?
When the sole benefactor turns out to be me
Then it makes perfect sense that I’m better off dead.

But, of course, what seems obvious a remedy
Is a thing that society deems as unfair
So much so, it’s a crime among modern-day folk.
It behooves me to see I’m the brunt of a joke
Of profound insignificance. Shocked in despair,
I shall keep on expressing ‘til I cease to be.

Bathe And Begone

Aug18

What compounds a sick joke is no one knows I’m bored
To the point of extinction. Yet, why won’t I go
To whatever is next for me? Am I afraid
That I’ll feel even worse than this hell that I’ve made?
I have lost vital patience with all that I know.
If this life is a game, indeed I’ve poorly scored.

I can’t stand my own playpen by now. It’s become
Prison-like in predation. I can’t let you in.
I can keep myself tidy. My soul needs a bath
From its foul incarnation. Am I on the path
Of profound transformation? What nature of sin
Have I done that my life is a tub full of scum.

Loosely rooted in this world, I am at a loss
To know it more sufficiently. Time has run past
Dissipating to nothingness of my free will.
This odd self I’ve created cannot learn to thrill
Anyone to sensation. How long will this last?
Is my health doomed to dive as I carry this cross?

If my complex of inhibition is a clue
That I’m not meant to be here, what could that look like?
As long as I remain here, I’ll do what I do.
Thinking that it has meaning leads to feeling blue.
My need for recognition needs to take a hike.
My hurt self along with it would be something new.

The Choice Of Depression

Aug7

I once met an attorney who thought she was good
All because her first case as a prosecutor
Was a suicide. She fought and won the damned case!
It would seem that some lawyers are fit for disgrace.
So, if you plan on leaving, you may be in store
For post-death litigation amid spirithood.

Things are screwed up with life. Isn’t that bad enough?
If I get depressed I’m amplifying the fact.
It’s my responsibility only to be
In a state of wellbeing most naturally.
If I get pissed at something, the way I react
Does determine my psyche and all of that stuff.

Do I choose my insanity? In ways I do.
The expression, “I’m mad at you!” is not benign.
Both subconscious and willing, it can get results.
Often times though, it ends up evoking insults.
I degrade my wellbeing when I piss and whine.
I indeed am my doctor. How so this is true.

Why Suffering?

Jun23

Take a close look at suffering – not yours or mine
But the hell of the hopeless. No matter what kind
Of dark cloud overcomes one, all translate to pain.
And it all has but one source. Through profit and gain
Few have grabbed up most resources. Most are resigned
To the struggle the gamble in life does assign.

We may call ourselves human, but what’s in a name?
Like Hell’s Angels, we rev up the atmosphere with
Our own brand of excitement despite nature’s nerves.
Have we not come to learn that our Mother deserves
Peace and silent cooperation? It’s a myth
That we’re separate beings and not all the same.

Every morsel that enters this body today
Is connected to some stomach writhing in need.
Every good time relates to the drug overdose.
Taking time to acknowledge that, I can get close
To an understanding of the nature of greed.
It is best that I eat well, but after I pray.

Please Don’t Go

May26

Mental maladjustment is sometimes what it’s called.
To lose all the connection to all that we know
Is to live in sheer agony. I can confess
That I know what it feels like. The mind is a mess.
It cannot function healthily nor can it grow.
In the living of life, one becomes unenthralled.

How would I comfort someone who’s feeling this way?
Simply because I’ve been through it, maybe I may
Offer some bit of clarity. All things are one.
When one cannot find within a sense of union,
A small shift in the thinking may better convey
That all are special characters in a big play.

We may all be mere pop-up’s on life’s big touch screen,
Popping in for a brief moment, then popping out.
But we all are the message we send to ourselves.
When one feels disconnected, it’s best that one delves
Into some form of practice to mitigate doubt
That the Myth Of Identity is the machine.

Every cell in The Body and person on earth
Has its duty to this life. How else can it seem?
Conscious obliteration of self can be done
In a way not so tragic, and it’s often fun.
We are not individuals. We are the Dream
Of Creation. Don’t leave here not knowing your worth.

Lunar Return

May15

Suppose I am as real as all that I perceive.
That’s a bold hypothetical! I can’t be sure
If my being has meaning. Prue rage leaves no doubt
That perceptions perceive me. Why do I act out?
All existence to me is an ill with no cure.
If I felt any other way, I’d be naïve.

Is it because it’s Wednesday? I’m mad every day
Because days become vicious then shift into night
Then along comes the next day. All remains the same.
Life plays me like an audio/video game
So the way that I must act must be wrong or right.
Every month, when the moon howls, we both have our say.

Yet, the moon isn’t full now. Have I then misspoke?
It remains full of itself regardless of how
We on earth may perceive it. I guess that’s my point.
Tidal waves, like emotions, are doomed to anoint
Every moment that I have, except for right now
Where all meaning available I may evoke.

Belongingness Longing

Dec8

My Belongingness Longing is called loneliness.
To belong to someone or something that I love
Is to be in fulfillment of much of life’s dream.
Yet, I’m already part of the total life stream
That has taken its residence, like hand in glove,
Into physical matter. To Be Is Success!

I belong to myself. Does it long much for me?
No more than any other does it give a rip
Because it longs for sustenance, just as all flesh.
Its consumption of substance it does to refresh
Its flesh package. At times life can be a strange trip.
I’ve belonged for a while. No one needs to agree.

Longingness is of feelings… affairs of the heart
And of things that no matter can well understand.
Matter needs not the spirit to justify pain.
It endures well within it for ultimate gain.
I’ll recover as I take my heart by the hand
And we both will discover a loving new start.

The Magic Realist

A Poet's Path

Tag Archive | depression

Negative Conclusions

Bathe And Begone