Mental Illness Poems | Examples of Mental Illness Poetry

It was far from being a match made in Heaven More so like a match that ignited the fires in Hell We took turns playing arsonist Setting love ablaze Our memories broken branches used for kindling Torn from the trees of suspicion We accepted the fate of the flames we ignited Lunacy that burned woodlands of our passion. She...

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I don’t know if it happened quite yet. The tinkering that caused the roar. The gruff feeling in my mind. I think it happened around that time, maybe. The diagnosis came at a funky, furious time. I languished and laughed. So the year became memorable. Not from swimming on the beach or anything. No, not...

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The moon speaks in phases the sun a voice of lasers every cloud a picture story -- write me a day, and I’ll paint you a Starry Night....

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River is running to meet sea, mountain for touching sky, bee for taking honey Birds are flying high. snail on the leave of tomatoes sucking flower glaring butter fly, numberless cricket coming far off burning and one by one die. green fields full of crops, canal dancing near by, jumping monkeys in the water paddy fields, hovering on dragonfly, melodious songs of shepherded, bleating of sheep grazing nearby, burning...

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Woman is a hole, Soft with spongey walls, Press the button, make her howl, Crash through her virgin halls. A newborn baby, little girl, Fresh kitchen rag to store, Waiting ignorant of the day, When she too will be soiled. Decades later, kitchen rags, Sit discarded in a bin, A loony bin for hags to talk, And squeeze out salty drips. Streaming semen pulling...

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Like a dust that has been blown away If I only had the chance to really say But I can only stand on the dock of a bay Within this soul there is a empty world inside With no one near or anybody far Not even a single wound or a mere scar No love, hate or pride Just a place where...

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I have nothing to live for. I have nothing to die for. If I die today, it will be nothing If I live today, it will be for nothing...

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Deja Vu. Turns around with you. Double vision turns to a single fiber. Which grapples with you. Deja Vu. We count on this feeling. Spin around like a speck of nothing. Try to count again. Deja Vu. Deja Vu. Lasts as long as outer space. Brings outer space into our view. When we try to pick...

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I. THE WANDERING I was born with a life that bled— a seafloor womb dragging tides of fern and marigold char The priests brought saffron and fear crowning me with diagnosis They said: She is too empty They said: Fill her with figs with seed with stillness They said: Her belly speaks too loud Mute her O Plato old patriarch of phantoms my body was no beast— just prophecy you never learned...

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The wheels of the chaotic times churn for them the sands of crushed dreams in the desert of desiccated life, settling frenzied on the unstratified fragile structure of the disorganized dunes of desolate existence. The sequestered moments of distressed awareness, drift the dust of disarray to the foyer of failed being. The truth of trustful conviction...

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They say you never leave the house. It’s a ghostly feeling by the tv. When you live somewhere and hate it for no reason? Remembering again and deflating. And you’re getting cereal again. And you’re getting things from places all the time. Whirling. They say you never leave the house. That’s all it is. They say...

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The scientists of today think deeply instead of clearly. One must be sane to think clearly, but one can think deeply and be quite insane. ~ Nikola Tesla nights are dark and long and those who come only to wheedle me into eating, or drinking, or brushing my hair coddle and coo yet bear knife and needle to prepare my mind...

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Lying still, in a dark room. It’s easy to sink into it. Let myself deflate. The room gets darker endlessly. If I step off this bed, The sounds will turn back on. So my eyes stay closed. As my toes move slightly. Don’t lie in a contorted way. Or the sounds will figure it out....

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I have no sense of time, the pride from my accomplishments is as null as the concept of permanence, besides the fog — seeping into my mind as deep as the proverbial soul within me. in the mist of what is left of myself, the only depth i can catch...

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My old jeans menacing. Gold jewelry too. I have to feel the weird belt around my waist. And the bracelet that appeared somehow. Socks drying off. Changing color too. Nothing is as blue as a T-shirt. That has a tragic stain. I have to eat taco soup. Just ground beef and broth. A horrible thing....

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