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"What's it like?" I asked, unsure of whether I should say the dreaded word. "Schizophrenia. You can say it, Landon." Ainsley said nonchalantly, as if she could tell what I was thinking.
From this tiny cell, I can hear the world moving. The trees growing. People talking. Always. My little cell. But in here I'm safe. People won't disturb me here, In my happy place. My solitude.
I have no personality. I can become whatever you want me to be. Mold me, shape me, Whatever you desire. I can be water, soil, or fire. If you need support, I'll be your own cheerleader.
#acrostic. How have I come to this point in my journey,. On death row laying here upon the gurney,. Reprimanded for my crimes and lies,. On this gurney is where I lay still and die,.
There are things that I have done and things I have undone. There are people that I have won and others who were just gone. There are times when I run and times where I stare at the sun.
I'm afraid I'm being foolish. As a result of my blindness, blind trust. My complete immersion in emotion. Judgement blurred. Inhibitions lowered. I live my life for the moment. And cherish each one.
Lonely lullaby lost in the tides of time, repeating itself to avoid the bottomless pit of oblivion, a black hole made of the sweetest memories and of lost hopes and abandoned wishes, slipped from...
Hey nice to meet you, What's your name. I don't mean to be rude, But we look exactly the same. Same strawberry blonde hair, Pale skin and Blue eyes, Freckled cheeks, You look at me with surprise.
You have a headache you say. Don't worry I deal with this every day. Don't take to bed Take this medicine instead. Not enough. Oh dear, here's more stuff. Take with meals mind (Causes ulcers we find).
"Peter?" That was one name I was sick sick sick of hearing. "Peter" The name came out as a shriek this time. Sick of hearing the name. Seeing his face. Remembering everything that he'd said and done.
Yes my preciousssss we wills we give nasty Hobbites what they asks for. Smeeagal will lead master of Precious to Mordor.
I shifted, well I tried to; the heaviness weighted on me; a vague wrestling recollection with a cumbersome synbatec came to mind. Eyes heavy, a yawn escaped me. Sandy giggled; my eyebrows burrowed.
Looking at the mirror but not sure who do I see Is it me in the past, the future or just this me.
Some like the handsome, Some like the brave, But I like those who misbehave. Give me a coward, A weasly sneak, And I'll be happy for a week.
A sense of finality fills the air, Nothing to see yet all I can do is stare.
Hello mister moon In your darkened sea Looking down at me and grinning...
I rush about from place to place To find somewhere to hide Screaming my soul's displeasure To those whom I pass by.
Wake up. What is it that you hear. Is it the cricket in the dirt behind the shed. It's chattering cries in the night echo within your mind.
You can ignore, but never forget. Things are not gone: merely dormant. The deceit and the lies like a web like a net, But the grudges and thoughts make us human.
I'm small. I'm discrete, I'm shiny silver, sleek. Pretty sharp, but without mind. I'll tempt you for the rest of time. I can't write, the action isn't just mine. I write only in red pen.
I lie in my bed for what seems like the thousandths time today. I stare at the picture of my mother lying on my bedside table. I heave a huge sigh and close my eyes.
I have a control panel, In my mind, Many switches and dials, You will surely find, Each dial has a label, For each emotion and feeling, My dials have gone awry, Unwanted side effects I've been...
I remember when I was young, my mom held me in her hands and would sing me lullabies. She would stroke my hair and tell me she loved me. I would gently hold her hands and fall asleep in her arms.
The serpent of doubt. Slithered too close. Self satisfaction. A long gone ghost. The taunts of torture. Smirk and goad. My once light thoughts. Now a heavy load. Eclipsed by fear. Overwhelmingly so.