S A D

My mind is a murky blend of distortion.

I can’t help but feel everything and everything is excruciating.

Nothing makes since and I am scared out of my mind of my mind.

My tears flow like stinking poison down my hot distorted face.

I run until I can’t breathe. Yet, I can’t escape myself. The monster and hero are one and the same.

Is this Fight Club? Do I have to shoot myself to get to the happy ending and kill that voice in my head?

Where did Marten go? He has always protected me from the others and now he is gone and I am left to fight alone.

Good, bad, day, night as soon as the light fades I can’t tell you the difference between any of it.

As the transformation hits the horror rips free of its chains and the heroin is left naked and afraid.

I am SAD so very SAD.

Me, but not Myself, nor I

I feel worthless. 

I feel stupid. 

I feel useless. 

I feel nothingness overcoming me and eating all of my 'goodness'. 

Despite how hard I try and fight, it's all for not. 

The change of seasons that kills the trees, in turn kills my spirit and traps me in a hibernation of depression.  

Frozen, in a self made tomb of self hate, as fragile as glass, and sharp as a knife. To insure to keep any possibility of help far from reach. 

Till spring can spring me from this morose penitentiary; I will be stuck with this sick and demented version of myself.

The Day I Died

​Every day is a day worth living, but what constitutes a day worth dying? For me it was how I died that made it worth it. The day started like any other, I woke up early to the sound of the kids down the block playing and screaming at the playground. I always wake up before my partner Stacy who’s a heavy sleeper. Once Stacy had awoken, she made me breakfast and, while listening to NPR, she proceeded to tell me what was wrong with the government. Once she was ready we ran errands all over town. Whenever we go to town I feel like royalty, because I am always greeted with a smile and a treat no matter where we go. This particular day I stayed in the car for most of the errands due to the off and on rain showers. I don’t like rain. Once we got home from town the rain had subsided and the streets were painted with puddles. Stacy and I decided to go for a walk and enjoy the sun. We always start by walking to the playground because I love kids and today there were a lot of them playing. Once we got there we started to toss the old ball around and meet people. One of the people we met was a little girl named Emily who was 7. I liked her a lot because she smelled like peanut butter and liked to touch my face. On our way to continue our walk I went looking for Emily to say goodbye. Her mom was on her phone and Emily was no longer playing next to her. I smelled a whiff of peanut butter coming from the direction of the busy street. Emily was chasing after a ball that had wandered off. I ran over to see if I could catch the ball before her. Upon nearing Emily, I heard a big, loud, truck racing down the street. I didn’t think, I just ran as fast as I could and head butted Emily as hard as I could away from the truck. The truck slammed on its breaks, but because of the wet streets it was too late. Everything went red then white. I could hear Stacy and a few other people screaming and Emily crying. My name is Sam and I am Stacy’s pit-bull. Today I died saving a little girl named Emily. Because I died to help someone live it was worth it.

Shocking ones conscience and forcing your uneasiness onto others.

How can someone tell me I have embarrassed myself? I mean, sure I might act out and not get the results I was hoping for, but that just means I have experienced an unsuccessful reaction to my actions. Yet, go back to, how can someone tell me I have embarrassed myself? How does one know if the reaction that comes forth from my actions is not exactly what I wanted? 

Art aspects

Will She, that's struggling with schizophrenia and her art, which she see's as the only way into her heart, ever be herd or understood by thous deemed by society as normal that has condemned her or us or me or we as okay to be free?

Instead of joked about or looked at in a different aspect like some dumb bloke.

There IS power and beauty behind my art. If you can't see it you are simply blind to genius, abstract, innovative, dreams.