Warning Dark poetry..
Yeah, if you want to judge me for writing dark words, I don't give a fig.
White or Dark, they are words, they are a reflection of my rather arduous life.
Most of you may have had an easy life, but I have depth, and let me tell you, I can always count on darkness, because 'He' never lets me down, always guides me to light.
So those of you, who care to judge me as 'mentally ill', back off, for 'He' and I don't care to listen to your shallow words or your shallow life story.
And for those of you who are interested in reading further and like my writing...
This is also being worked on with a tune and rhythm for a gothic number, which I will embed here once we are through recording. There you go:
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She doesn't leave my side,
And now am so used to being spied!
Due courtesy am silent, at other times am violent
Is it the blood slipping down my 'Coloured' Wrist?
Or is it the Mesmerizing Pills that cause the Twist?
Oh She's Corrosive and I've begun to rust!
She's taking over me with her immortal lust
She wants to be one with my soul
and influences me to take on that role!
And alas! I am holding on to this fickle life
As do those thoughts when I see that knife...
Oh She's Corrosive and I am rusted
Can't find my soul, a while since its been dusted!
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And if you are in the dark about what I mean by this piece of poetry, let me guide you to light.
I hallucinate, almost always. I hear voices of a middle aged woman, asking me to become one with her, basically, she wants me off this world, and the reasons she quotes are that she is outside this life/world and is in need of a soul friend, and she and I can truly befriend each other only if I quit this life. She tells me she is desperate and needs a partner. My constant question to her is, 'Why me?', for which I do not get a reply. She's unreasonable I guess, as are most women (pardon me my feminist friends)!
I have struggled with this over the many many long and painful years but I am stable now. I have been under several anti-psychotic drugs to 'treat' this rather frightening disease, but none of it has really helped (hold on, I don't need your pity, I am quite alright. If you meet ignorant of my world and history, you will see me displaying no signs of any insanity and will quite like my person).
What has helped is an imagination of the true blissful feeling my mum and dad would have had when I was born and that keeps me going. I endure all this for them, for those happy faces, for all those amazing moments I have had with my family, with both my siblings.
Don't intend to make it more melodramatic, my only point is, no matter how painful it may be to live, one can always find an inspiration to go on, if one is willing and a wee bit selfless.
