Nails.

Polish and paint them,
Then leave them to dry.
And, if one’s flaw-full,
My dear, don’t you cry.

For nails are not live.
They don’t feel at all.
Worrying is useless –
It’s like a false fall.

When you discover
Life’s all based on this,
Things will get better
When dealt with a kiss.

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Act fast.

She knew what would
happen.
That didn’t change
what she would
do.

The thoughts were rushing
now.
So fastly that
they stopped.

Nothing was left except
the option
that poured itself
against her
mind.

The consequences
would hurt.
Hurt like fire.
Hurt like rain.

For it’s not only bad
when it burns –
When it’s wet
it’s just as
evil.

Except it’s masked
in a perfect
disguise
she wouldn’t fall for
any more.

Too many times before.
In the past.
In the future.

But in the present, no!
This time she was
convinced.

That is was air
she was
breathing;

Lacking.

And it was blood
she was
seeing;

Smelling.

Quickly now.
There’s no more time.
There’s no more
time.

Run!

Die.

18-05-11

The Ring.

Golden and round.
A diamond on top.
Love and commitment
Worn on her hand.

Fights. Disagreements.
Shameful acts and words.
Cursing and cries
Spit out of her heart.

Golden and round.
A diamond on top.
Sin and disgrace
Worn on her hand.

Screams and disgust.
Steam from the core.
Illusion and masks
Dressing her eyes.

Golden and round.
A diamond on top.
Madness and lies
Worn on her hand.

Envy and greed.
Selfish discussions.
Fiction and lust.
Hopes breaking apart.

Golden and round.
A diamond on top.
Failure and fault
Worn on her hand.

Prayer and help
Transforming despair.
Kindness and trust.
The bending of knees.

Golden and round.
A diamond on top.
Grace and forgiveness
Worn on her hand.

Repenting and mercy.
Changing of ways.
Hugs and renewal
Recalling her dreams.

Golden and round.
A diamond on top.
Beauty and honour
Worn on her hand.

Paper and Pen – Suicide Note.

Today, during one of my university classes, a specific modern-looking poem appeared wherever I looked. It was about a pen and a paper working together to create the typical suicide note. I had to write it down before it made me insane. And now I present it here:

paper paper paper paper paper paper paper paper paper pa
paper paper paper paper paper paper paper paper paper pa
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper paper paper pap
paper paper paper paper paper paper paper paper paper pa
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen pen paper
paper pen pen pen pen paper paper paper paper paper pape
paper paper paper paper paper paper paper paper paper pap
paper paper paper paper paper paper paper pen pen pen pap
paper paper paper paper paper pen pen pen pen pen pen pap
paper paper paper paper paper paper paper paper paper pap
paper paper paper paper paper paper paper paper paper bloo
paper paper paper paper paper paper paper paper blood bloo
paper paper paper paper paper paper paper blood blood bloo

Have I gone mad? 

Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
It doesn’t go away in a day.
It’s not as simple as a frown or growl. –
It’s slow, making each breath very weak.
So tiring and real. And fake. And true.
A lie that’s so bold,
It cannot not hurt me,
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
I’d rather be sad, than depressed.
I’d rather not have these burning tears.
This heartache is too much for me.
So much I cannot feel it
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
It’s not agony or fear.
So much deeper; So within.
So inexplicable and cruel.
A thief, making me a clown.
No wonder I have nothing,
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
Say all I’ll never hear.
It won’t help, but don’t worry,
Things are pretty stable now.
I’m not going to sink in,
For it’s not possible to do so
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
I’m as sorry as I’ll ever be.
Take it for granted, throw it away.
Keep it locked up, cut though the pain.
Lay on the grass. Brown, not green.
It hasn’t been watered,
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
I await right here.
Where no bird can sing
Any melancholic tunes.
For they are all too happy,
Compared to this feeling,
Of not having where to go,
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
A cry for a miracle, perhaps.
Untouchable; Unique.
Full of wisdom, desperation.
Just like cattle: Standing, eating.
Knowing the farmer will come.
And kill it. And sell it.
Not care or touch its young,
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
A hungry hope yet to come.
And when it comes – Oh! the wonders!
Of joy, relief and pride.
No, not pride. Never!
I refuse to go that low.
The well will not consume me,
Or swallow all my love,
Any more.

Any more.

Any.

More.

Y and Z.

“It’s just a phase – it’ll pass.
Only exists inside your head.
Just be happy and you’ll see.
Sadness is nothing serious.”

“So simple – yet so complicated.
At the same time: white and black.
Big and blurry; small and spiky.
Vicious, but far from great.”

“You’re exaggerating things.
Stop wasting your time and mine!
Depression is a sickness
You shouldn’t pretend to have.”

“Thorns in my veins yelling silence.
In my lungs there are spiders of my sore.
Too real to be a dream.
A vision far too concrete.
Feeling endless – Oh, the horror!
Of being immortal here on Earth.”

“Go see a psychologist.
You’re insane just for attention.
You have a house, family and food.
No reason to be so immature.”

“Not any more – not ever!
Waiting every now and again.
Never understanding;
Or knowing where to go.
Ready – oh, so ready!
Ready to leave it all.”

“Why?” you asked.

“Zee”, I said.

We never talked again. I do not wonder the because.