Tag: mental health poetry

The Darkest Sides of the Moon

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Help me sober up from the puddle of mud I chugged for you.

We’re not operating at the same frequency but it still rings true –

I cannot concentrate when your foolish mind runs around mine,

It sprints in circles, and I’m outrun, acting as if it’s fine.

No one’s giving a helping hand when I’m down and that’s normal.

I begged you not to cut my wrists and you asked to keep it formal.

One inch from the finish line is where I realized my painful mistake –

I didn’t let your cast iron heart drown in sea, I thought it was a fake.

You’ve been exquisite at making the darkest sides of the moon disappear,

And I’ve kept my guard up, kept the bridges burned and coast clear.

Somehow the mud in my stomach is making my heels unsteady,

And maybe we’re not on the same wave-length but to let you go –

I don’t feel ready.

But if you still have some love in stock, I won’t take any.

I’m not your lucky penny.

Not again.

I won’t take any.

The Show Mustn’t Go On

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I lit thirteen black candles to get you out of my four chambers

And I prayed to the gods and devils, even some saviors.

Every last belonging of yours I tossed out of the blurry window,

Every corner of my cell I cleaned, still –

You called me a bimbo.

Or was it my shattered ego throwing a tantrum once again?

I can’t compete with this, your venom is my ritualistic sin.

Four days I’ve been counting the seconds to our next row.

Baby, I’ll hit where it hurts but you’ll always go low.

Shows like this mustn’t go on, despite the audience chanting.

Whenever we crash again, they’ll call it a fabulous landing.

I’m over being type-cast as your next big step to freedom.

If you grow your demons for too long,

Someone needs to feed them.

It won’t be me, unfortunately, I’d rather run with my heathens.

The neon city might crash my bones but I’m not looking for Eden.

The next time you come down from the clouds pale, empty handed

Please keep in mind – it is still me you carved and forever branded.

You were never stranded.

-JW

Dusty Gravestones

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I’m also refusing your lesson and vivid banner calling me to safety.

No harm done, take it easy, but how do you cope with days so hazy?

Don’t be fooled, no one should come down the path I’m pawing

But of all the souls out there, mine is the least deserving of saving.

When your reputation has nowhere higher to go, please take a seat.

You can’t carry the pain of someone crushed by the fangs of defeat,

You can’t ask a kid to outrun the future that’s barely promised

And I’m not being pessimistic, I’m just asking for you to be honest.

When there’s nothing to teach, how can you reach for the ceiling?

When the world is crumbling in full force, how is it healing –

To mention that there are better days ahead,

And our way is for the dead…

Is it really true that graveyards call us only when the neon needs to be fed?

I don’t think so, however, there is a revolution of hope to be lead.

Let’s promise ourselves another day at a time, despite all that’s been said.

For the pursuit of true empathy, I will be willing to lay my head.

-JW

Ignoring The Doom

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Stuck in a bit of a hollow place lately,

Stuck in a loop, deluding everyone sedately.

Trying to fit accordingly on every surface.

The bending and breaking is making me nervous.

Trust me, I’m trying, I’m reaching for the sun.

Trust me when I say – my hand is a loaded gun.

Let me climb the barriers on my own,

Let me use resilience that I have loaned…

Don’t wait up when the floor creaks in my room.

Don’t worry about it, ignore the impending doom.

I promise to keep on stretching for the light,

I promise to crawl, even if I get scared of the height.

Keep my silence as a memory of the days I screamed

I guess my need to become timeless wasn’t what it seemed.

-JW

Three Lights

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Staying safe in between the busy railroads,

Running trains brushing off painted antidotes.

The trees lean on my clavicle, cracking it in,

And feeling good seems to be the original sin.

Leaves shaking my ribcage with seven winds,

Heart chambers made out of empty cans and tins.

Roots graying out but I’m standing my ground.

Seeing the three lights approaching

Kicks my recklessness, so new-found.

-JW

Vault

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I’m willing to take the risk and sneak into the vault again.

You asked me to bring another shadow so I’m giving up the oxygen,

Putting on the rose armor, tying my laces, picking out rebellious thorns,

Wearing the faux leather helmet and imagining it has three horns.

I’m scared for my life to take the journey, to rip out another page,

To bring it back for others to read, then burn…

As if manuscripts really aged.

You know better than that, no unholy texts needed to rip me apart

But sometimes in order to receive your hits, I must work incredibly smart.

So I’m tightening the screws in my jaw, preparing the camouflage –

This time I have confidence that even the darkest caves won’t dare to sabotage.

No matter how many times I promise I won’t dig up the raising heart,

I’m always willing to sneak down one more time…

As if painful sacrifice really lived in this art.

-JW

Cain

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Being at ease is not easy when the mind is buzzing louder than the latest news.

It’s like living with a python, fearing constriction, then you find a bite and a bruise.

Has it been venomous all along? Was I running the wrong way for years?

Should I just feed it with the last of my pride and some one night volunteers?

No matter how much I nourish the beast, it comes back hungrier; I get paranoid.

Why is it making me go bankrupt, does it not know – nothing will fill the void?

Truth be told – nothing fills me up either so maybe she’s a worthy enemy after all?

God was reciting Corinthians but I was fortunate enough to miss that disrupted call.

Yes, you could say I’m lacking faith, playing with fiery positions keeps me at bay –

But don’t you be offended, at the end of the day I order this chaos and I pay.

And please avoid being gracious about my struggles to pay a rent for this brain…

With the corner of my eye I see shop windows reflecting the shadows of Cain.

-JW

Another Disaster in Time

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I’ve been thinking a lot about loyalty lately and coming to terms with the fact

That the one bullet I cannot escape is being true to myself.

No, I’m not an act.

Many say I lack vision, others claim I come off as abrasive, lacking basic tact,

But who really hears their whispers when life and I, we signed this secret pact.

It was a summer day and my chest was burning – it was bursting lies, spitting pain:

I’m lying on the floor, counting voices, waiting for someone else to take the blame.

My hand reaches for the last sip of poisoned wine.

Someone pulls the emergency brakes on the train.

I sit up, wide-eyed in disbelief and I swear – someone muttered my name.

Knowing everything I’ve learned now I’d say it was my consciousness calling me home.

Yet – that feeling wasn’t present, it felt like my future has dialed the crisis phone.

It struck me that as long as I got myself in this fidgety world, I’m not completely unknown.

So I’ve been thinking a lot about loyalty lately and how without it you’re utterly alone.

An unmarked graveyard representing another disaster in time,

And, not to sound cynical, nothing’s blanker than a penniless crime.

So I’m pulling it all together, drawing a full circle – not betting a dime.

I must win the loyalty back. Be it a silent prayer or a pantomime.

-JW

Doubting // To Another Day

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This story is only partly true so you will have to imagine the rest.

The re-teller never existed. To you she might seem real…

Or was it all a test?

No, no, I’m quite sure that the narrative is truer than the actual story

And the voice sounds realistic but also too arrogant.

(Has she ever muttered “sorry”?)

To anyone reading this – please don’t jump to conclusions harshly.

If you say that I’m to blame, I will accept it.

At least, partly.

So enjoy the show and take the orchestra home if you can’t sit through.

Because the drums and the violins might hit some chords

Resonating with you,

Too.

***

My head has been bed bound for a decade and counting.

Nothing grows in a ceaseless fire,

It’s a storm of blips. It’s a form of drowning.

The clouds move unsurely through the stickiest nectar.

I imagine this is what death feels like

Because anxiety is my faithful specter.

My limbs are tranquil while the chest goes full Urie

And the focus is stolen from me,

The emptiness is filled with fury.

What about the jury?

Are they still out and about, ignoring the verdict they are going to serve me?

I look around. “In the time of need did they all desert me?”

Helplessness locks my senses, the room turns black. I bow to the unimaginable.

Not the first time someone called my pain unfashionable,

Even easily eradicable.

Yes, my head has been bed bound for a decade and counting.

And yes, I can take another day of drowning.

I can take another head recounting.

But please take away all the shouting.

You’re not understanding what you are doubting –

And I’m simply looking for mounting,

For someone who doesn’t suffocate by shrouding.

-JW

Shadow Play

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“I would die for you” is an easy thing to say

When you lose the will to do so every other day

Because instead of pessimism you want your life to be a cabaret.

Anyway…

The other morning my brother claimed there’s no reason to pray.

“Skip it. Douse the guilt at the bottom of another ashtray.”

It blew my mind back then. But the world spins too fast

And now I may.

Am I waiting for permission? Am I begging for a leeway?

People will grieve someone who’s seeing red

But won’t pity anyone who recognizes the grey.

I would still die for a sinner, but which one of us is it?

Difficult to say.

Let’s pretend nothing was said during this shadow play.

-JW