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Narrative Depression Poems | Narrative Poems About Depression

These Narrative Depression poems are examples of Narrative poems about Depression. These are the best examples of Narrative Depression poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |

The Rose

Once bloomed a rose so young and fair
With dark brown eyes and long black hair

Beside her be a tall dark tree
Whose branches stretch to smother thee

Too close beside the shadowy bark
That soon begins to leave its mark

She cries for help, but none shall hear
Her thorns too sharp, who’d dare go near?

To save this rose, who’d risk their life?
With naught to gain but pain and strife

Alone, afraid, she lays to rest
Her heart beats low inside her chest

And with the hour growing near
She sheds her final grieving tear

And so the rose soon falls asunder
Her final day, eternal slumber

She lies beside the old dark tree
The only one who mourns for thee


Details | Narrative | |

I'll cry tomorrow

Sitting dying alone,
In this dark and dingy place 
It has now become my home..
The only open bar 
In town, I needed something to heal my broken heart
I'm on my 8th round, Going on Nine now!

Swaying on this broken bar stool
As the bartender shouts 
his “last call”, As I'm looking down
and this shuffled ground
As I try a re step my footsteps home
Walking them back In my head
But I'm a stumbling mess

My heart feels like shattering glass
I'm slowly breaking,
Sink-in, Drown-in in the dark-nest
I'm Gasp-in, For breath, Each one Hard-er
than the next!
While the whole world around me are breathing
Fine, I'm falling back into the abyss, 
Broken heart-ed 
This vodka has cut my skin so deep
This broken glass with it's hard edges
Digging, Silting into me
Tho some of my pain was self inflicting 
My heart's beat, is barely beating
That's why I'm drinking
This gin 
Now swallowed, why cant I
swallow my pride With
Dignity, I'm openly seeking darkness 
I'm sorry farther “For I have sinned”
Those sin's I've harbored
Now my hollowed soul's giving In
To that darkness....

My body trembling ,The outcome's looking bleak
I've become so weak
Shaking knees, I can barely stand up
My eye's become teary 
They say its this alcohol that's depressing me
But it's soon becoming my dependency
I'm finding hard to leave it be, I'm hooked....
...To a drip, Anything so I can get my fix
It’s another chapter I've my book
That''s needs to be ripped, Apart
Because I'm hiding be-hide a mask
My face is smiling but inside my heart is scared..

I'm writing this at night 
I'm tired... but my mind's racing fast
while my eyes are wide shut
I'm Trying to sleep..but my mind's
Not giving up..whilst
I'm lying on my friends sofa
I'm unable to get up
Morning rises but I'm slowly dying..

I'm hung over
Pondering on my life and wondering
what it would be like being sober
How can I achieve anything in life
When my only motivation is getting high
And the other half of the time
I'm crying inside 
Too depressed to write
But I wipe my tears 
But I'm still here, On my bar stool from 9 to 5!

The same broken record playing
Saying “I'm going to quit” But I'm not facing
My problems to begin with, I need a Fixative
I'm not telling myself I got a problem to be able to fix it!
Sitting here, Ripping the label off this toxic beer, bottle
I can't look at look at this mirror and face him!
Face it you hit rock bottom...
I cant believe what I have become
I wake up drunk
Where will I end up?
As I look along, A sedimentary I come a pone, A grave with my name above...

As the bar door's are now closing
My heart's ripped open Soaking
In pure emotion
Bartender “Give me two more shots”
And ill mend my way's
Not before a quick pit stop 
To get more drink from this shop
Because I'm getting sick of these sad song's that play
From the broken jukebox!
Or this it me?
And my pain that's eternal bleeding
Thinking that every sad song is talking to me?
I'm leaving.. 

Because I'm lonely
I wonder if anyone get's me?
The feeling of looking back hopelessly
At the bottom of the vodka bottle
Describing my feelings of feeling empty!
I've been here before so it can't be rock bottom

The only thing I adore 
Is my trusty red Pen that's my Savior 
It's a metaphor...it's my blood, That's in its ink
When it hit's the paper
It's that pain, I'm writing with!
Because that inspiration's bleeds through my veins
Just for me to scribble to words on this page
Just so I can throw them away!
Because I think anything I ever do 
Is not good enough for you..
Maybe I should do, More before I get taken away
Maybe if that ambulance had been late
I wouldn't been standing here today
But I still cant make that change

Because My vision, Impaired by the flashing lights 
Of that ambulance
So If I die, today 
At least they couldn't say 
He was just an addict
Who abused his talent...

But I'm still here I tried To drown My 
Sorrow
But I'm Drowning In tear's That I'll cry 
tomorrow!


Details | Narrative | |

Love on Her Arms

I see who you are
Behind the clothes and smile.
I want to help because I care,
But that’s just not your style.

Alone you roam the streets,
Independent and strong.
But you’re stuck beneath the sheets,
As another man comes along.

I wish I could make a difference
But you refuse and move along
All you see is imperfection,
And believe you don’t belong.

Your beauty knows no end
And your heart has no bounds
So many messages I wish I could send,
But you’re stuck beneath the clouds.

I look forward to seeing you again,
Even if you don’t care.
You’re on your own again
And all I can do is stare.


Details | Narrative | |

Evacuation and Loss

The night shone for the full moon,
Sky brewing a coarse monsoon,
Bolted were windows, locked were doors,
The frequency of death frighteningly soared.
But who was this infant high upon the hill?
He denied the storm and just stood stone still,
Eyes shut like blinds and fingers dug into ground,
Felt he could move no muscle, for was sadly street bound.
Shutting his eyes, arms wrapped tight round
His skinny body, battered and browned
Praying for the sake of friends, family and all
However imaginary, he imagined them call
 “Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry, remember our love”
Joining their gaze in the beyond above,
He softly mumbled a song to forget,
The once daily song that was always a duet,
Alone on that hill without any feel,
Of an afterlife he finally accepted, wasn’t real
Tears met the floor, now bathed in yellow light,
As lightning struck him too quick to fright,
Child lay on the floor, dismembered and black,
Though his mouth was smiling and his happiness had come back,
As re-joined with family, head held high, 
He waved his tortured existence goodbye.
Hugging his mum and his dad the same,
Somehow put an end to the incessant rain,
The natives emerged from their homes, safe and sound,
The boy crying for happiness at the new life he had found.
Soul peering at his body, dead at age eleven,
Holding family’s hands they could finally pass on and join heaven. 
The touch of their skin brought old emotion,
 Parents who were torn betwixt war and devotion,
A child whom they gave their best shot,
By train to board and bomb to not.
The grave of the boy with the electric crown,
Who carried a burden he couldn’t live down,
Stood proud in the yard of cobbles and stones,
For everyone knew those were a heroes bones,
When you look into the sky on a stormy night,
Remind yourself of the boy’s plight.
As he is the clouds that damper weather,
Out to protect his town, children altogether,
He wanted a life for them around,
That didn’t consist of being mentally wound,
A life that he could never possess,
But he did not bathe in spiralling depress.
Life is sacred, upon that hill,
Those cobbles and stones bring great goodwill,
For the sun only shines on that grassy land,
Still holding marks of the boy’s humble hand,
Some say that the yearly rain,
Is him up above, the tears of a chain.
The chain of the tears shed on that night,
Of the fear and happiness’ conventional recite,
Up above, being tucked under the covers,
Is a little boy with an injury he recovers,
Mother kisses his head and says her goodnight,
Father over bed, comforting a nightmare fright.
Drifting off, the boy could hear,
A little rhyme to calm his fear,
“Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry remember our love-“
The young man rose slowly in his bed,
Opened his eyes and smiled as he said
“I’m here”


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Sorrow

She sits alone 
She draws her knees up to her shoulders, hugging them tightly
She shivers in the icy wind 
Her teeth chatter and the stream of tears from her eyes, sting her cheeks 
As she lifts her head towards the heavens, 
Her eyes burn with pain and her piercing scream, barely human, expresses her Excruciating 
suffering and anguish

She is gripped by immense sorrow, the most powerful and destructive emotion
It roughly envelopes her, throwing her into a pit of darkness, filled with evil shadows
The shadows claw at her, ripping into her flesh like daggers
She shakes violently, tasting blood as she bites down hard on her bottom lip
But she feels no pain, her body is numb, numbed by the demons of sorrow, who, 
Are slowly overpowering her, devouring her heart 
And locking her in an eternal web of pain

She is engulfed by fear as the intense sorrow surrounding her, compresses her
She gasps for air as the merciless hands of sorrow close around her throat
She fights in her lonely vacuum, with everything she has
She reaches for her only comfort, her fingers coil around the blade
As she stretches her arms out in front of her, her void eyes gaze upon her pale skin
Her skin is etched with scars
Her scars an eternal, entwined, tattoo of her excruciating suffering
As she runs the jagged blade over her skin, its cold feel calms her
The compressing sorrow surrenders
This is her saviour, the one who can release her from this life of pure hell
Her skin begins to open, the river of blood flowing strong
Her pain is flung into the open, through her wounds, 
Leaving a sense of tranquility in her distraught heart

Her red stained fingertips caress her raw wounds
She is mesmorised by the life force flowing from her, as it paints 
Her tragic story on her body
Painful tears bleed from her eyes as regret shudders through her
She rocks backwards and forwards, lulling herself into a sense of peace
Her body is drained
As she lies back she becomes limp
Her eyes close and her whispered prayers fill the open air,
Creating the painful melody her heart sings
As she slips away

Thunder roars and the starry heavens open 
As God’s tears rain over His beloved daughter, 
Healing her wounds and piecing her broken soul back together
As the sun rises above her, 
It illuminates her peaceful expression
Her earthly father collapses besides her
His silent tears wash over her beautiful, pale face
As he lifts his dead child in his arms, 
Vicious sorrow rips his heart apart, 
Creating wounds which will never heal


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Love Note Paper Cut

  Inspire I write wisdom in the fire, to decline the bitter taste of a dark intelligence 
that I admire. My heart is a sentence of jealousy behind a question mark of 
vegeance. Inches deep inside this love note paper cut, stiches flood beside to keep 
the wound shut. 

   


Details | Narrative | |

Sacred

Here, the Leaves Engulfed themselves 
in Glorious Golden Symphonies 

Here, the Trickling and Tepid waters
Silked over Smooth Stones

Here, is where we Lay for Hours,
Together under oaks shadow

Here, you enjoyed brief Slumber as
I Ran my fingers through your Hair.

and it is

here, I keep you Sacred, as I lie 
Alone within the Shade.


Details | Narrative | |

Feeding the Parasites

I wept, my insides swelling
Despising every fiber of my body…
I focused on the glassed scenery before me
Longing to be a bird…so I might fly so far away….
From the searing pains of my present
The end to all of my hopeful dreams and fantasies

I knew in my heart…I must return
Back into the presence where these tears began
I recalled many lonely nights without that presence
I remember how empty I felt, how moist the pillow was
As I rested my burning head through the misery of ‘what-if’
My body feeding the infestation on my bed…
I let the critters bite me for so long….
Wishing they would eat me all away…

And I wished, my hands pressed against the hot glass…
That I had that bed again…
Staring out that window, wishing…writhing 
Longing for a downpour as the sun beat mercilessly
Fighting to hold the excreting despair

A lonely hall I stood in…once so full of life…
I now stood alone there….
Shaking in the buzz beyond me

How long must I stand here?
After all these years….that’s all he had to say?
I didn’t care….today was the end….today was the very end….
My strength was gone…sucked dry….
Just as I allowed my tears to disappear…..

I refused to cry no longer…
Dry….dry faster….you mean nothing!!!!
For the presence has made himself very clear
In cold existence… though at distance…
Warm…beautiful…true…
It was his way….and I couldn’t change that 

Like so many others around, the one I loved….
Couldn’t even spare a fleeting look
I had no one to blame but myself…
Though a part of me begged me to believe he was different

And no one questioned my solemn walk to the lone window
So I cursed my body, my soul, and heart
I cursed what I had trusted to make my mark
I wanted to just…fade away…
And though granted existence to this presence,
Acknowledgement remained a strained formality 
A distant dream of something more…
Walking briskly through that double door…..

“I was impressed…” He had added, with no emotion.
No conviction. And no love.

Why do your eyes wander as you speak?
Is this broken heart even worthy of your gaze?

…..trust me…..
I no longer live for your acceptance, you fleeting presence
I no longer write to you…though often about you…
No longer speak of the beauty I have once seen
But there are still times when my eyes moisten,
As I imagine where you once stood
Imagining those sickening ‘what ifs’….feeding the parasites….
Imagining what could have been…
What will never be again….


Details | Narrative | |

The Phone

The phone rings empty into the night.
Filling a void that brings strange comfort
to thoose around.

Rage eats away untill it bores a hole
straight through are hearts.
Whiskey cauterizes the wound.

Alone with fools we gather.
The bitter ones taking to there barstools.
the weak look to punish thoose happy
bastards.
Who dare to feel anything in the place of  
emptyness.

She left so many years befor.
At least her mortal soul did.
I rememeber when it was when I still
dared to dream.

Long befor reallity was a friend.
Lovers lie.
Motions keep us living.

She spoke but the words were empty as her heart.
So as strangers we parted just as we met.
With a bitter taste I never did reply.

The phone rang it's last time.
I herd it echo farewell down the hall.

I had to go so I never unlocked the door.
i just left my emotions hanging  like some
forgotten coat pushed back in
the closet.

Its been almost a year since that phone filled
the emptyness of my soul.
If only I had answered.


Details | Narrative | |

The Empty Tissue Box

My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do 
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view

I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused

I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone

So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss


April 14, 2013


Details | Narrative | |

African Child

" From the debt of my heart"

The African child
Sat behind the bamboo fence
He was sober and tense
Sputtering and wondering.
He forsook the bush meat
And the gathering under the moonlight
For sobriety and the causes of his uncertainties.
His clothes were like dried leaves
His feet like openings in the eaves
He longed to see a brighter tomorrow
He clarified the causes of his sorrow;
Sins of the father,
Fighting not to make things better
Therefore darkening the weather,
Making his destiny falter and bitter.
Tears exuded from the sound of his flute,
His fears enlarged like a parachute
But one thing he never understood,
Watch and pray, oh! African root
For your foundation is stinky, filthy,
Faulty and guilty...... watch and pray.



Details | Narrative | |

America, Why Did You Stray?

America, why did you stray from the old way.
A constitution put forth, the foundation of our land,
barely recognizable what was originally Jefferson's hand.
Tarnished and smudged by misinterpretation,
overindulgence and greed, to satisfy political,
judicial, and journalistic need.
Once majority rule, now bordering on ridicule,
the law of the land, ever changing, meeting demands,
of whoever takes a stand.

America, why did you stray, parents unable to discipline,
fear children undisciplined now rule, school in chaos,
students unruly, guaranteed to pass, unprepared for their future,
parents unsure, wish for the past, hope the next generation,
won't be like the last.

America, why did you stray, streets used to be a place to play,
neighbors knew one another, socialized every day,
doors left unlocked, nothing to fear, families stayed close,
helped one another, took care of mother.

Now drugs rule the day, hate and crime more common than play,
multiple locks symbolic of today, rarely talk to a stranger,
living in fear; life no longer precious, taken away,
day after day, the bloody count rises, a country in crisis,
victims pay, guilty appeal, courts give them the best deal.
Nobody protests for victims rights, put a murderer to death,
they scream all night.

America, why did you stray, hatred and bigotry alive 
and well today, nationalities split, long for the old way,
when an American, was just an American, now hyphenation,
the accepted way.

America, why did you stray, once an industrial giant
you gave it away, too high a standard for industry to pay,
moved out of country, the new American way, unemployment,
poverty, homelessness rapidly increasing, ruined lives,
while billions are spent on so called allies.

America, why did you stray, what's written today,
barely address the wrongs building every day,
religion is accepted, God is not,
country divided, politically split,
presidential bashing provides journalistic wit,
hatred and bigotry, live for it.

America why did you stray, new chapters every day,
really a damn shame.


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It's not about You {He is the One} (2)

Young and Old: It is time to
                       wake up;  Young America, there comes a moment in life were it is coherent
that the close eye's of supply and demand will offer a challenge that shall seperate the boy's
from the Man's. And to add to this remark, Women, whether you are white, black, red or what
ever choice that place's you in the catagory of demand. Your emotional fortitude alway will be
an issue, the supplie's of your womanhood, is that the challenge's of tomorrow supercedes 
any challenge's of yester-year's because the cause's of determination are often misunder-
stood when both sexes's think they are above their nature and their attitude is to be conc-
ieve as "good". But, "It's not about You". Old, middleage or new, a generation of viper's it is
not about you, not about the clothe's you wear or the self proclaim existence of your supply 
and demand. He spoke everything into its proper order of importence, now the evil beast  
[satin] and the self centered thought's of people's, have the forces of impurity been given to 
a society that's compel to do what they want too do. "Is that You".
Satin: has taken over the Churche's:  God created life: Mankind in its procurement to out-do
the essence of God himself, have accepted an abonminable disrespect unto himself and who
are the one's that suffer: Our Churche's, as an uppity blandent society of worshipper's, that
knows no God, has allow itself that the place of worship has become a dend of permissive be-
haviour. "It's not about You". It's about God (Jehovah) the name of Emanuel speake's that he 
is the Lord of everything. And the attitude of the peoples can not change one thing. With eye's
wide open and the spirit of love is resussited in generation upon generation recieving the
blessing of the Son; Young and Old, Shout-Out the cidditiness from your lungs. Accept and
believe. "He is the One".

Let the Bible speak's: Forasmuch as ye know that ye were not redeem with corruptible
1 Peter 1 18-19         thing's, as silver and gold, from your vain conversation recieved
                                by tradition from your fathers: But with the precious blood of
                                Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and spot:


Details | Narrative | |

While I lay

Lying in the enclosed walls of my room
I used to think as I lay all night and day
everyone else around the world
also slumber
But no! all I see is not all there is
Somewhere somehow, at the same time
lies other boys with great imaginations
that keep them awake
Somewhere somehow, its afternoon in
another nation, and within its boundaries
live other passionate savvies making
every moment count
While I make excuses for the time loss
some millennials with the same idea I had
and ignored months ago, are working
tirelessly to make theirs a reality
Somewhere somehow, while I lay wishing
and waiting, an army arises taking fearless
steps like they have nothing to lose
Somewhere somehow, an age mate is
earning so much just by using their talent
for good
While I lay, legends with so much
achievements still lie awake because they
feel there is still so much to do
While I sleep,the clock doesn't.


Details | Narrative | |

He's more than just a friend, { He is the One} 1

The pressure and pain in each other's family of another friend that slips away and now
you find yourself in need of someone to talk too.  And in each family and every of the
thousand's that you thought was your friend is never the same.  "He's more than just a
friend".  When one need to be uplifted and the need of the same thousand seem some-
what drifted, the one that truly is in need gets lost in the shuffle.  And that shuffle is re-
onerated by one's pride and greed, that same someone shall never have the proper
necessitie's too satisfied that need.  The Lord Jesus Christ promises friendship mix with
courtship would always equal a divine relationship.  "He's more than just a friend", for I
once was lost but now I am found, the one's in need of an uplift will not find it, because
the idiosyncrasies we compound in our live's is due to the burden's that we allow to keep 
us down, we turn to someone who we thought was that friend, only to be disapointed time
and time again, the price of which is discarded by the poor.  "He's more than just a friend,
maybe that's him you hear knocking at your door".  If that be him....then let him in, a
friend indeed is he, clousure than any somebody that you will meet having church on any
street.  Muhummed nor Buhda can be your friend.  For they were not annoited on the
criteria of love nor do their belief's allow's being friendly to folk's that marches to the beat
of a different stroke.  Now if you are still in need of a friend and you're not ashame to
call upon his name.  (Call Him) He would come to you from all direction.  Just believe, on 
that day of ressurection, more than just a friend got up and got out, SHOUTING!!.."All power is mine". 
"So now all everyone".  "COME"
And meet a real true friend.  Believing on Joseph and Mary's - Son.  {He is the One}.


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A Slight Return

Darkness is my life that apears in
light.
Has it come to just another fix.
The smile does conceal my losing fight.

The music the screams within.
The lies eat away at the man I can no 
longer stand.

Hollow is thy heart.
Crimson stains all that is never held in
hand.

It started a game now it's a curse.
In darkness I speak to you
all I could never say.
The man once known to you.
Has all but faded away.

And as I slip into adictions abyss.
Candle lit memories were taken
with the breeze. 
That killed that romantic glow.

As the stranger who exists in the form
once you did love.
Twist's into a form you cannot understand.

I ask out of love for you to forget.
The monster that haunts this form.

In memories true love we will forever know.
The emptyness of of this life.
And the once splendid candle lights glow. 
In truth we die. 
As we live. 
So must we cry. 

Not every every question has a answer my friends. 
Gonzo.


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Depression has taken over me

Hurting inside feel like I am about to cry Like anyone cares that I am dyeing inside I feel 
like I could disappear into thin air and no one would that I wasn't there I could leave 
tomorrow and see that none would know  that I was even there they would cease to care 
Life is about living for today not tomorrow  but no one told me  that it would be filled with 
so much sorrow I feel like giving up and calling it quits because there is nothing  here in 
this world I'm in well I said my piece I said it all now I feel like crawling up into  a tiny little 
ball well that's it that's a wrap it's the end of the show oh wait it's not a show it's my life  
well go on think what you want to think but I lost my Hope and Faith and it's not a 
mistake it's the story of truth being told I am hurting inside that's no lie because now I 
have just died a little more inside


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Shut Your Dirty Mouth

Tonight I thought I shook off a roach. Swore I felt it approach. Imagined it crawling down
my throat. My Dad came out from the den and asked What’s Wrong? I said, Nothing, I’m fine
when I still felt bits of dead roach nesting in my spine. That’s Divine.

I feel the Holy Spirit in me tonight. Jesus Christ! I must have done right! Don’t come
near me, I’m contaminated, clearly. Oh, God, need me! So that the sky doesn’t turn black
every time I look up to seek your advice. My chips are stacked, I’ve got them wracked.
Roll the dice six six six every time. On my Dime. I think I may have crossed the line.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe I’m not hip to this.

Maybe I just need to settle down. Take a breath. Take a pill. Sit real still. Stare until
I become comatose blare my music so loud that my eyes become brazen and I can’t hear what
you’re saying.

Do roaches bite? I wonder at night. As I hide beneath the covers that used to shield us
from one another. Protect us from the evils in this world, bring no harm to little girls.
Now they just cover up old condoms and dirty food crumbs.

Numb. Numb. Numb. Can’t move. Limbs feel numb, limbs feel wrung, limbs feel slung,
stammering and slurring like grandma after her stroke.

This is a joke. The world’s a joke. We’re a joke.

Then why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing until our paws fall off, our mittens
become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.

Oh boy, here I go again. If this is a joke why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing
until our paws fall off, our mittens become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.


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DESPAIR

He despaired. He was despondent and desperate.
He was impelled to violent action but restrained from acting out.
He had finally given up. He had lost all hope.
Disheartened and dispirited his will had collapsed.
Lacking confidence or courage, depression defined him. 
He languished in gloom and grieved in lament.
He succumbed to a wretched tribulation,
a miserable melancholy, so forlorn was his ordeal.
He anguished over his prospects, so painful was his worry.
Desperate and wholly dejected the criminal faced his judgment.
As justice was served he fretted, ruminated, chafed, sulked and moped.
Now he faced the torment and ridicule he so easily delivered.
Finally he too understood the meaning of despair.


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Poetry As A Form of Therapy

The walls of the doctor's office
Are blue.
Blue is a color that's supposed to
Calm, to soothe.
The doctor and the nurse both have
Blue eyes.

They are telling me
About the magic pill
That will make 
All of my problems 
Go away...

The nurse asks,
"Don't you want to be 
Like everyone else?"
I don't answer...
Not immediately.
I ask if I can answer
Next time I come back.

I'm still thinking
Of those words...
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
If I hear-
If I hear lines in my head
Chasing eachother around
Like hallucinations, 
Hear voices speaking poetry,
Is this what it means
To be schitzophrenic?

Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
If I start speaking with a ryhthm then
To speak in iambic pantameter-
Is this like OCD behavior?-

Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
If I stay up all night-
Have you ever stayed up all night?
Have you ever gone outside
And sat in your backyard 
At 3am and felt how... peaceful...
The darkness was- listened as
The wind whispered love songs
And watched the sky
Until the first light of dawn
Brushed the sky's cheek
With her fingers?
Did you look for words
To describe the first kiss 
Of sunshine?
I've always loved
To write about
The sunrise...

Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I haven't written poetry 
In a month but
I still can't sleep-

Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I haven't written poetry
In two months, and
I don't know why-
I don't think I can, 
I think-
Maybe my heart broke...
I don't care if I see
The sunrise...

Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I slept for 15 hours straight
But I'm not quite sure,
It doesn't feel like I ever
Really woke up-

Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I just want... to write.

Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I wrote a poem today...
I wrote about the sunrise.
I've always loved to write
About the sunrise.

Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I know I probably seem
Tired at the moment;
People have been
Telling me that-
I haven't slept much
For a few days or so,
I've been writing too much
Poetry...
People keep telling me
I look so happy.

The doctor asked me 
Don't you want to be 
Like everyone else?
...No. I don't.
But I didn't say this. 
I nodded like
They wanted,
And then wrote
It in a poem-
The one place
I never have to 
Lie.


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Today

it hurts again today
i wake up in pain
tears flow
pain grows
no one loves me
all alone
please hold my hand
let me love
let me be loved 
make the pain go away
soon 
so i can stop crying on the inside
and live again
laugh again
be whole again
it hurts again today
go away


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Bloody Nightmare

A heart is broken and I am dead
Wondering when this pain will end
My heart will need to mend
Crying out loud screaming through blood
It soaks the floor I collapse in mud
Crawling slowly I cannot breathe
My vision is blurry and now I can't see
I hear a scream and demon bell
The world is now a freezing hell...


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Self Trephining

Lesions Spread Across His Self-Esteem,

Rupturing the Delicate Under-Belly of

His Thoughts.


                       - An Atom Splits Behind his Eyes -


She Dominates The Innards of His Marrow

Casing, Patrolling Every Corner. 

A Masochistic Dream Injection.


                       - Every Thought Incapacitated By Memory -


A Worrying Pain Began to Build Beneath

His Weakening Skull, His Worn and Bitten

Nails, Useless at Tearing Flesh.


                        - The Toolbox Opened With Ease -


The Screw-tip Stung as He Pushed it in Hard

Above his Eyes, Trickles of Blood Baptised

The Occasion.


                         - Pressure Relief -


His Fingers Squeezed The Trigger,

Piercing His Skull Like a Hot knife

To Butter.


                         - It Sank Deep -


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My Search for Me

Grey are the days that past by my eyes
and the nights are scary to see.
A pall clouds my vision each day I awake
which hinders my search for me.

Blank are the stares I see each day
when I look at the eyes in the glass.
Reflection of the one I’m trying to save
from this suffocating morass.

Lost I am as I travel the road
that I hope will lead me to salvation.
The forks in the road are far too many
and my heart pounds from palpitation.

Deep into my mind do I bring my search
as I desperately try to see.
Yet twisted and tangled my thoughts all seem
as I still keep up the search for me.

In the eyes of my child I do see a glimpse
of something that makes me believe,
in the hope that I have something to salvage
as much as my mind tries to deceive.

The hands of my friends reaching for me
to help though I don’t even ask,
tells me that I do have my good inside
and I shouldn’t take myself to task.

But as much as the signs and the help I receive
give me a glimpse of the person I know I be,
I have so much pain and confusion in the way
that it’s so very hard to find the real me.


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Me, Myself, and I - (Part 1)

Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by 
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and 
read Part 2 to complete the poem and leave your comments on the Part 2 submission. Thank 
you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain diminished 


Me, Myself, and I...


“There are things that concern us,”
		Consensed my “Selves” in earnest
““We” fear that “I” have succumbed to delusion”

“And after careful deliberation
		It is with much hesitation
That we choose to delineate upon this confusion”


“Fact is your intuition
		Is riddled with superstition
And your judgment leaves much to be desired”

“So you leave us no recourse
		Don’t push us to use force”
It is then that the “I” was summarily fired


I exclaimed “By whose authority?” Response, “Rule of majority”
“The “Myself” and the “Me,” (forthwith the “We”), are experts in our field”

“And with much technique and time
		And some forays into the sublime
The nature of your malady will be revealed”


“So to keep yourself from having a fit
		Step back and just calm down a bit”
“We,” they said, “certainly have this under control”

“We swear this won’t hurt at all”
		Then I felt my inhibitions fall
Still I said a prayer to God that He keep my soul


You know, fact is I do feel off axis
		As evidenced by such parapraxis
As this prose that I, (or is it “Us”), seek to pen

And with my mind feeling numb
		I finally chose to succumb
And allow the “Me” and the “Myself” to begin


And then came questions in a flurry
		Answer, answer and please do hurry
Not one moment of respite did they give

They pushed and they prodded
		With every “T” crossed and “I” dotted
My mind felt like it had gone through a sieve


And all this psycho-analysis
		Is causing my mind paralysis
The questions, can you stop with the questions please

“Yes, oh yes indeed
		I do believe we have what we need
To make an attempt to identify your unknown neuroses”


Details | Narrative | |

Me, Myself, and I - (Part 2)

Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by 
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and 
read Part 1 first so as to get the true gist of the poem and leave your comments here on the 
Part 2 submission. Thank you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain 
diminished.


Me, Myself, and I... (continued)


“Your, (Or “Our”), symptoms seem to intermit
		And the fact that “You’re,” (“We’re”), a hypocrite
Tis no wonder we’re having such problems with diagnosis”

Then “I” had an idea so grand
		To dispense with this at my own hand
A self-inflicted coup de grace would be my prognosis


So while the “Me” and the “Myself” squabbled
		With courage newly cobbled
“I” spotted the dresser drawer and made my run

With fingers fiercely fumbling
		Whilst they continued grumbling
“I” produced from the depths of the drawer a shiny gun


And now my life, though ill-fated
		Was soon to be vindicated
This would affect us all equally the same

Would be no myself or me
		No you, him, us, or we
But an inclusive all would be to blame


It took me a moment to figure
		Out the safety on the trigger
Then “I,” (or “Us”), prepared to do the dirty deed

Then the barrel found my temple
		And as it settled into the dimple
A still small voice did my “selves” choose to heed


Hence a moment of clarity 
		Harkened me to posterity
And I thought what a legacy to leave behind

“Can’t we all find a way
		To save this miserable day
And avoid a broken body for someone to find”


And then deep within my soul
		I felt and heard a simple drum roll
And the differing sides of me just subsided

And with my mind now as one
		I worked to get this all undone
The whole business of this stuff I derided


And tis now true of fact
		That I survived this ordeal intact
And lived to raise my face unto the sky
 
And here now as it ends
		I find I’ve made good friends
With the “Me”, the “Myself,” and the “I”


Thank you for taking the time to share in my poetry. Please feel free to leave your thoughts 
or comments here on this page. 

J. Scott Burns...


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That Spark of Hope

A little girl lost her home this year, for her, Christmas wouldn't be there.
Her family was angry from all the troubles, they simply couldn't repair.
Don’t bother us about presents her parents said, they were depressed by their fate.
With bitterness they said, you’d be lucky to have dinner tonight, or even a plate.
Life was harsh, nowhere to go, anger and fear had put their souls, in a terrible place.
The little girl had found no hope or joy, lurking near their old car, of late.
The car was their home, gas money was scarce, and with few places they could park.
Yes, their troubles had slowly extinguished, that precious hopeful spark.
Without that spark, they’d never find their way, from this terrible place of cold and dark.
And life’s darkness grew deeper nightly, as hope vanished under a reality so stark.
Even the very fiber of her family, seemed to be shattering slowly, slowly, apart.
The child felt alone here in this dark car, as sadness tried to engulf her little girls heart.
The future seemed filled with hopelessness, as shame and dread, were leaving their mark.
Embarrassment to be seen and turned away, made it hard for them to reach out, to restart.
But life goes on, and we can’t fear to rebuild, or the future will be hard to impart.
The girl suddenly declared there’s more to life, and she wouldn't let it conquer her heart.
She decided triumphs will come, and all will get better, if she held to that hopeful spark.
Seeing the desolation and anger here, she couldn't stay around, she had to get away…
So she climbed out of the car, and she walked into town, not so very far to stray.
She went and looked at the store windows, where Christmas was being displayed.
The music and people filled her heart, lifting her spirits, deep inside, that day.
She noticed a store, way down at the end of the row, on the next block, where it lay.
No one was there, it seemed lonely, and the darkness was again, spreading it’s decay.
She ran there in time to see an old man closing up, with sadness on his face betrayed.
What use were his goods, if no one would shop, or come down along his way?
The super store down the block, was daily making him lose more and more in the fray.
He could no longer afford to hire people, and the season had very little time, to stay.
As they talked the girl saw that she couldn't let the darkness take another, so she prayed.
Then she told the old man, if he’d open the shop, she’d bring customers down his way.
She added, she’d find reasonable workers, if her family could live upstairs, she portrayed.
First bring the customers, he said, and the rest will be yours little friend, he conveyed.
She had him put his best toys, as a contest prize, and to add lots of lights on the display.
He set a contest, “Winners-the best collectors for families in need” on Christmas Eve.
He put out a bright contest sign, but still nobody came to his end of the block, to survey.
So she had him call the Salvation Army, for a kettle, Bell ringer, and Carolers, who came 
Lickety split, their way.
Then she had him call a dear old friend, and farmer, to bring a tractor full of bails of hay.
Another volunteered his horse and sleigh, both, to see the city lights thru New Years Day.
This was a great idea, since the older drivers, could use the help, for their bills to pay.
The girl ran all over spreading the excitement, and to come see the prizes, his way.
The families suddenly started heading toward his door, and to those wondrous rides.
At that moment her parents came, and she explained what her hope, had improvised.
Her father talked a contractor into building a disabled family a home, to help advertise.
He could get a tax break; come to this store for supplies, and hire unemployed workers, he devised, so wise.
In the end, each night grew brighter, because of a girls hope, and heart-warming delight.
And the old man began smiling for the first time, in a long, long, time, starting that night.
All was saved, a home was found, and another built, as a sad little girl taught grownups to smile along the way… 
You might say, A Spark of Hope lit a candle, then a raging fire, which was burning bright by Christmas day.

The moral to my story is:
Never give up on Hope; it’s your best friend, as life brings its troubles your way…
Know that with time, a good heart, good will, and friendly ways… 
You can find God’s gifts again, if you don’t let the dark take you away…


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Don't Take My Kindness For Granted

You think that you know me
But you don't know at all
Every day you say your sorry
After that I fall
I hate it when you lie
You think your doing good
When all you cause is pain
Just tell me that you hate me
So my life won't be in vein...


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The People Around Me

Things seems to be very clear,
When actually felt it is unclear,
What really seems to be clear,
May never ever be clear for ever.

Your help for others,
May be to be appreciated,
Or taken as what is called,
to be uncounted.

My question is clear,
Why the help for others,
Is sometime never appreciated,
However it is always delivered. 

In response to ethics,
lingers in my mind the answer,
To help others is not to be recognised, 
But it is to be called someone, 
Who can be respected.

To all, continue to help,
Not to to be appreciated by others,
But to be respected by yourself.


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In The Dark

Walking alone in the dark
All is silent
Until theres a snap of a twig
Hands come from behind
Holding my neck
I try to scream
Noone Hears
The hands grow tighter
I give up fighting
I take a final breath
He lays me in the bushes
My body cold and still
Noone knows who did it
They probly never will