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How dance must you upon my bed needs rest must I my weary head Oh nurse are you my prison hold My saviour, yes, as be so bold Suffered pain is want of me muscle torn,,torn limb agree
Stop embracing the cathartic abstract carnage of a heartless artist.
Crying, crying, crying. Looking straight at the barren white wall. My roommate was nowhere to be found, So I knew I could let it all out. But why, why, why Was I crying so damn much?
Daddy Daddy I don’t feel like myself Daddy, I need you more than ever it’s my mental health I can’t seem to understand why I still suffer After seven long years, it’s getting tougher
How can I rhyme the words in my head When my medication keeps my creativity dead It suppresses my mind and artistic creation Right and left brain have no correlation My inner child wants to frolick and play
Every morning when I awake A glass in one hand, a small paradise marking my fate the paradise in my other palm The yellow oblong world seems to shrink when looked upon I splash the water into my soul,
What is it that keeps one from reaching its highest quality?It’s an epitome I️ received, tugging at my curiosity.
As I sit in my chair, typing away at my computer, I feel eyes, watching me. Not bad eyes. No harm is intended, I can tell. But someone, perhaps more than one person, watches me.
One might question the sanctity of the doctor who prescribes you new medication,While simultaneously asking you to remove the sutures from your last hospital visit.
crying, crying always crying the tears never seem to end never speaking my mind you ask me to open up to you to let my thoughts be free did you really think that i could bend just because?
We were introduced to medication at seven and eleven. My brother's first thought was to break open the capsule To the sound of my parents saying, "No, no, no." Now we're poppin' pills from PEZ dispensers
I feel so detached, watching the scene happening How could these blue scrubs be mine? This wristband?
The main character loves me, the smart side-kickThe thought is a balloon that continuously rises
Before you I was bent, A twisted Quasimodo praying desperately to be your Esmeralda Begging for your love to fill the empty cathedral of my heart So one day all of France could see my inner beauty
Continue..... Continue to live Continue to process I dont remember how this began When did I go wrong? When did I decide my bed is where I chose to stay safe?
I’m trapped inside routine Ingestions of medication Proven to numb the sickness That wreaks havoc in my mind. Of course, the pills work, But only for a moment. Freeing me from myself,
Being sick to me, iswaking up due to that small subtle crease in the bed causing
My kid’s six,
Dark and cold, A tale so old, Coming home, Waiting to unfold. He sits on his bed, Painting his wrists red, Urging the thoughts, To just leave his head.
I once knew a kidHe was joyous, excited, and niceHe was not at all timidPositive emotions, he could entice
You say I’m okay On the outside So I must be alright To keep going But have you once thought About how I feel inside
I was little when disposable cameras were "the thing"Polaroids were fading out. I would pose for my mother in my new school clothes Silly faces, ballerina, peace signs.
Wouldn’t it be easy? A hand full of pills, Gently sliding down my throat, Poisoning my body,
Mental stabiliy is invisible to the eye of one's emotions when they run so dry. Don't cry for the hurt, the lost, or the mislead.
i never suspected that i would spend so much time trying to pick things out from under my skin.
Sweet Supple Innocence The press of sinewy hips Our flesh entangled before the gaze of silver plated St. Peter, the protector I merged into you, no longer me simply an extension of you You became my puppeteer
My voices sometimes told me
Not everything works Like it used to when We were young Disease fills us Disorders rot our minds and We’re never cured Anxiety creeps up Fire that you ignore but Can’t put out
Helping people day and night Helping people left and right Rain or shine For Saddness or happy This is my job, my calling, my happening Healing the sick or fixing the disabled
Earning the blessing to be a pharmaceutical scientist…that is probably one of the most selfless things conceivable to me.Every day on the job will be an effort to eradicate disease.Tuition,SAT,GPA,SSL hours?
Welcome all to what I call my imagination, quite a unique thing let it fill you with facsination. But there comes a price to this talent you see, care to take a guess or let me show you what I mean?
Pills,Pills,Pills,A pill for all your ills,Pills,Pills,Pills,A pill for all your feels,Pills,Pills,Pills,For broken bones and broken homes,
Forcing the pills, the good doctor prescribes To children with potential to be the greatest of minds. Parents say , “My kid’s waaay to high energy.” ADD! The good doctor determines.
When I stopped taking Valium I started punching walls And I think that’s a good thing I’m Seventeen I’ve been medicated for four years I’m angry and I ought to be
Seems lost, doesn’t it? The decisions that led to this moment, Cost it its own government, I still covet it, when its well it’s a wonderful thing, Sometimes, even in hell, this joy it can bring,
I sink downDeeper, deeperUntil there is no soundDeeper, deeper
Where is the pain? It’s here inside - Buried within my heart; Raw and worn In crippled form, No pulse it needs To start. I need this suppressed pain, For what is life
(poems go here)Blue and White Sanity When I first thought maybe my symptoms were more than just being 17 I feared one thing more than madness.
They say that I'm ill.
Medication. Fix me. Take away my humanity. One emotion, I don't want depth. I only want what I can help. Help me rid of sorrow and tears So nothing but happy will last these years
Health is wealth or so they say in the red, white, and blue of the U, S, of A. But out of every country in the world, America has the most obese boys and girls.